


A Doll's House

by lachatblanche



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Character Death, Consent Issues, Dubious Morality, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, One-Sided Relationship, References to Prostitution, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 134,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the Dollhouse, where all your dreams and fantasies come true. At a price.</p><p> </p><p>Based on the TV show <em>Dollhouse</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Private Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> This is an all-in-one post of my 'Dollhouse AU' series, compiled together for easier reading. The series was written piece by piece but hopefully the story will still flow properly. Thank you to everyone who patiently accompanied me throughout the writing of it - the story would probably never have been completed without your lovely comments and continual support!
> 
> Spoilers for Joss Whedon's _Dollhouse_.
> 
> Title taken from Ibsen's play _A Doll's House_.

The man lay on the right side of the bed, watching adoringly as the Boy began to pull on his clothes.

‘That was wonderful,’ he said, staring up at the Boy with something like awe. ‘ _You’re_ wonderful.’

The Boy laughed at that, pausing in his attempt to dress to lean over and place a sweet kiss on the man’s lips.

‘You _always_ say that – and strangely, only ever after we have sex,’ he said, his mouth tugging up into a mischievous smile.

The man’s expression faltered for a moment before the warmth returned to his eyes. 

‘Then maybe I should say it more often,’ he said in a low voice, reaching forward to tug the Boy closer. The Boy laughed but the sound was muffled as the man began to kiss him, innocently at first, but then steadily filthier, until they were practically rutting against each other on the bed.

An alarm went off on the man’s side of the bed, causing them both to draw back.

‘Why do you have an alarm set for the middle of the afternoon?’ the Boy asked curiously, slightly disappointed that they had to stop kissing.

The man frowned for a moment before reluctantly sitting up and reaching for his own clothes, which were scattered messily around the room. 

‘Appointment,’ he said abruptly. 

The Boy watched him for a second, puzzled, before shrugging and moving to pull on the rest of his clothes. He paused as he pulled his trousers up, his expression slightly troubled.

‘You – you would tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you, darling?’ he asked, regarding the other man with earnest eyes. ‘If – if there’s anything troubling you. Right?’

The man, who had frozen at the question, seemed to soften at the Boy’s genuine concern.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said softly, moving over so that he was in front of the Boy. ‘Everything’s fine. Everything is … perfect.’

The Boy smiled at that. Leaning forward, he kissed the man softly on the lips, not seeing the sudden flash of despair in the other’s eyes.

The man opened his mouth, about to say something rash and ridiculous when the doorbell went.

‘Oh!’ the Boy frowned. ‘Who could that be? We aren’t expecting any visitors, are we, love?’

‘I-’ the man opened his mouth and shut it abruptly. ‘Let’s go see who it is, shall we?’

The Boy smiled and, nodding, clasped the other’s hand as they made their way towards the front door.

‘Just a minute!’ the man called as the doorbell went again. He moved slowly, almost as if reluctant to answer the door. He paused before he opened it, turning to cast one longing look at the Boy behind him. Then, swallowing, he pulled the door open.

In the doorway was a stocky, thickset man with wild hair and a cigar in his mouth. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, and the moment the door opened his eyes immediately flicked to the Boy, taking in everything from the wide blue eyes to the purpling love-bite on his neck with an assessing gaze. The Boy coloured under the scrutiny but he smiled at the stranger, appearing to like him despite the oddity of his presence.

‘You’re here then,’ the man who had opened the door said in a voice that was part disappointment, part resignation.

The wild-looking man raised a thick, bushy eyebrow.

‘I always am,’ he said, his eyes flicking over to the other for the barest fraction of a second before returning to the Boy. That millisecond’s glance, however, had contained a flicker of disgust that would not be apparent to anyone who had looked.

‘Darling,’ the Boy said in a clear voice. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

The man cast an almost beseeching look at the newcomer, who sighed. Passing the end of his cigar to the nonplussed man, he moved towards the Boy, his expression strangely gentle.

‘Hey there,’ he said gruffly, ‘I’m here to take you to your appointment.’

The Boy frowned.

‘Appointment?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘Yes,’ the gruff man nodded. ‘It’s time for your treatment.’

The Boy’s expression cleared.

‘Oh,’ he said, pleased. He turned to his lover, who was waiting by the door, his eyes on the floor. ‘Don’t worry, love, this won’t take long. I’ll be back before you know it.’ He went up to the man and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. ‘I’ll be – what – half an hour, an hour?’ He turned to look at the gruff man behind him.

The newcomer nodded.

‘Something like that,’ he agreed.

‘Right.’ The boy beamed and reached towards the coat-pegs for his coat. ‘Everything will be fine, darling, you’ll see. The man-’ he paused and turned, frowning at the newcomer.

‘Logan,’ the man supplied easily.

The Boy smiled.

‘Yes, _Logan_ will take care of me,’ he told his lover reassuringly. ‘He won’t let anything happen to me.’

Logan tensed as the man’s expression changed at that, an almost bitter expression crossing his face at the Boy’s words.

‘You trust him then?’ he asked, his voice harsh. ‘This man, who just walked through the door – whose name you didn’t even know. You trust him?’

The Boy looked at his lover, an inscrutable expression on his face.

‘Yes,’ he said, without hesitation. ‘With my life.’

*****

‘I love him,’ the Boy said, a soft look on his face. He bit his lip and cast a shy glance at Logan, who was sitting opposite him in the back of the van. ‘I know what you’re thinking, that I am too young for him, but it’s not _that_ much of an age difference. He’s only ten years older than me.’

‘I wasn’t thinking that at all,’ Logan said evenly. The van jerked, causing both he and the Boy to bounce. Logan frowned and nodded at the Boy’s shoulder. ‘Seatbelt, Charlie.’

The Boy frowned before laughing.

‘Logan, I do believe you’ve forgotten my name!’ he said, smiling.

Logan gave him a searching look.

‘Yeah,’ he said after a moment. ‘Perhaps I have. There are a lot of them.’

The Boy cocked his head, puzzled for a moment, before shaking his head and smiling again.

‘The treatment won’t take long,’ he said, as if assuring himself. ‘I will be out of there in no time.’ He looked up at Logan from under his floppy brown hair. ‘You said so, didn’t you? That it wouldn’t take long? It’s just that I don’t want him to worry.’

Logan gave him a grim smile.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said gruffly. ‘It will be over before you know it.’

*****

The Boy blinked, opening his eyes slowly. A young, bespectacled man was leaning down over him with a warm expression on his face. The Boy felt his own mouth slide up to match the smile.

‘Hello,’ the Boy said. ‘Did I fall asleep?’

‘For a little while,’ Hank said gently, with a small nod of his head.

‘Oh.’ The Boy paused for a moment, taking that in. ‘Shall I go now?’ he asked.

‘If you’d like,’ Hank said pleasantly, inclining his head once again.

The Boy gave him a pretty little smile, before his bright blue eyes moved vaguely away as he slowly climbed out of the Chair.

‘Goodbye, Hank,’ he said, smiling, before turning and walking away.

Hank watched him slowly make his way out of the room. The moment the Boy was gone, his face lost its pleasant warmth and was instead filled with something almost like sadness.

‘Goodbye, Charlie,’ he said.

*****

Logan paused outside the door, taking a moment to surreptitiously straighten his shirt and rub at his face, before raising one hand to knock.

‘Come in,’ came a cold, clear voice.

Logan quickly opened the door before turning and shutting it firmly behind him. He turned back around and found himself facing a beautiful blonde woman who was busy scrutinising the papers on her desk.

‘Ah, Mr. Howlett,’ the woman looked up from her desk. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Frost,’ Logan grunted in greeting. The woman gave him a look. ‘ _Miss_ Frost,’ he corrected with a roll of his eyes.

‘I trust the assignment went well?’ Miss Frost – _Emma_ – got up from her seat and walked around to the front of the desk.

‘I guess,’ Logan shrugged and scratched his chin, unsure how to broach the subject.

‘But not one hundred percent satisfactory,’ Emma said shrewdly, her words more of a statement than a question.

‘No,’ Logan admitted. He paused before steeling himself, turning to look Emma right in the eye. ‘I don’t think that Charlie should see Mr. Smith again.’

Emma took this declaration in her stride, her expression unchanging. She didn’t look at all surprised.

‘I see,’ she said at last. ‘Care to tell me why?’

Logan shrugged.

‘Just a feeling,’ he said, folding his arms.

Emma raised an eyebrow.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Howlett, but I am not about to terminate what happens to be a highly profitable series of assignations with a very wealthy client on the sole basis of your _feelings_ ,’ she said coldly. ‘Now, I will ask you again. Is there a reason for your anxiety or am I to assume that this grievance is just the result of your _feelings_ for your Active clouding your judgement?’

Logan forced himself to not grit his teeth.

‘He was agitated,’ he said at last. ‘Even Charlie noticed – said that several times he seemed on the verge of speaking only to clam up tight.’ He paused. ‘I think he’s about ready to spill.’

Emma straightened up at that. The expression on her face was grim.

‘Mr. Howlett,’ she said coolly. ‘Are you sure about this?’

Logan nodded slowly.

‘Yeah,’ he said, letting out a breath. ‘Yeah, I am. He was getting too close to Charlie. Too involved. The guy’s becoming dangerous.’

‘And what would you suggest?’ Emma asked, watching him keenly.

‘That we terminate his contract with Charlie,’ Logan answered immediately. ‘Permanently.’

Emma leaned back against her desk, deep in thought for a moment. Then she straightened up and gave him a brisk nod.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will have Hank delete Mr. Smith from the client list. Have security follow up with our now-former client, if you would, Mr. Howlett. We can’t have him take it into his head to make trouble for us.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘That would be very … unwise.’

‘Yes, Miss Frost,’ Logan said obediently, relieved despite himself that Emma had listened to him. ‘I will see to it right away.’ He turned to leave.

‘Oh, and Mr. Howlett?’

Logan paused and slowly turned back around.

Emma was back behind her desk, once more intent upon her papers. She glanced up at him as he waited.

‘I don’t think that Mr. Smith is the only one who is _getting too close_ to Charlie,’ she said evenly. Her gaze turned hard. ‘See that it doesn’t go any further.’

Her gaze followed Logan as he shut the door close behind him.

Logan paused outside the door, taking a moment to gather himself once more. A wry smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Taking a long look around at the Dollhouse, he shook his head and started to walk.


	2. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan learns more about his Active.

Logan huffed out a sigh of relief as Charlie’s eyes flickered open and met Hank’s. 

There was no need to worry, of course, but Logan couldn’t help but feel particularly protective about his Active whenever he came back from assignments like this one. Sending him off to be someone’s personal dominatrix for the evening was one thing (and Logan wasn’t even going to go into how fucked up he found that, not right now, thanks bub, he’s perfectly happy with repression) but assassinations were another. Charlie wasn’t … Charlie was a good kid. He wasn’t made for that sort of thing. Yes, Logan knew that it was just his dumb brain being stupid – Charlie wasn’t even a proper _person_ , really, when you thought about it; no personality or desires or anything – but Logan still felt that he could tell. He couldn’t help but think that before the Dollhouse, the person now known as Charlie would have balked at the mere thought of having blood on his hands.

_Guess there are some perks to not remembering the shit you did the day before,_ Logan mused, watching as Charlie gave Hank a vacant smile and then asked whether he’d fallen asleep.

‘For a little while,’ came the expected response.

Logan watched thoughtfully as the rest of the little charade was played out, moving out of the way when Charlie climbed out of the Chair.

‘Hold up a bit, Charlie,’ he called when he saw the other make his way towards the exit. Charlie turned and gave him a pleasant little smile. ‘I’ll be taking you to Dr. MacTaggart in a minute.’

Charlie’s mouth stretched up at the corners, curling sweetly.

‘I like Dr. MacTaggart,’ he smiled.

Logan rolled his eyes.

‘Of course you do,’ he muttered. ‘You like _everyone_.’

‘Yes,’ Charlie agreed, surprising him. ‘I like people.’

Logan threw Hank a sideways glance, but the programmer just shrugged.

‘I guess he likes people,’ he said, grinning.

Logan let out a grunt.

‘I can believe it,’ he said. ‘He looks like the type, does Charlie.’ He smirked. ‘Now if I heard that big guy – what’s his name, Azazel? – say that, then I’d find it a little hard to swallow.’

Hank laughed at that.

‘Yeah, he doesn’t look like the friendly type, does he?’ he chuckled. ‘I can tell you now that most of his assignments are _not_ the romantic sort.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ Logan snorted. ‘What with the name and all … Speaking of, what’s _with_ the name?’

Hank shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ he said vaguely. ‘I suppose he looks rather devilish?’

But Logan was shaking his head, frowning.

‘I mean _all_ the names,’ he said. ‘Azazel, Riptide, Rogue, Storm … What the fuck is up with that?’

Hank winced at the swearword and threw Logan an irritated look, pointing deliberately over to where Charlie was happily standing on the other side of the room.

‘Oops,’ Logan said unrepentantly.

‘I hope you don’t always swear like that around him!’ Hank hissed.

Logan shrugged, causing Hank to groan. 

‘Never mind that,’ Logan said impatiently. ‘What’s with the names, anyhow? Apart from Charlie’s, they’re all screwy.’

‘I know,’ Hank agreed, making a face, ‘and I agree - there’s no real order to it. I have made several recommendations to Miss Frost regarding this in hopes that she’ll change things, but … Well, it doesn’t seem to be working.’

‘Funny that,’ Logan remarked. ‘I’d have thought that order and classification and shit would be right up her street.’

Hank winced again at his swearing, but this time he overlooked it.

‘Maybe so,’ he agreed. ‘But I suppose it’s too late to do anything – not now, at any rate. And, odd or not, it _is_ a system. All the Houses do it. Granted, most of them have a better organisation scheme than us – the NATO phonetic alphabet, for example, or the Greek alphabet. It all really depends which branch of the Dollhouse you are in. Ours … well.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t actually know. It doesn’t matter really. All that counts is that no real names are used. Well – at least in most cases.’

‘Most cases?’ Logan raised an interested eyebrow.

‘Well,’ Hank hesitated. ‘Charlie, for instance …’

Logan immediately became alert.

‘Yes?’ he growled, sitting up and casting a glance to where the Active in question was patiently standing. ‘What about him?’

‘Well,’ Hank’s eyes flickered up to meet his before glancing away. ‘Don’t tell anyone I told you this, because you’re not supposed to know, but … His real name is _Charles_.’

Logan blinked at that.

_Charles,_ he turned the name over in his head. _So that’s who you are._

He quickly turned his attention back to Hank.

‘So how come they called him Charlie?’ he asked. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that Frost would have allowed it.’

‘Oh she didn’t,’ Hank said immediately. ‘Charles was actually going to be called the Professor – probably because of his old profession, see?’ And there Logan was handed yet another piece of the puzzle that was Charlie. ‘But then Shaw stepped in.’

Logan stilled.

‘Shaw?’ he asked slowly, his eyes growing fractionally wider. ‘ _Sebastian_ Shaw? You mean the big cheese? Of the Shaw Foundation? The one that runs this joint?’

Hank let out a humourless laugh.

‘The very one,’ he answered.

Logan let out a low whistle before his eyes narrowed.

‘Why’d he step in?’ he demanded. ‘Why did he change Charlie’s name?’

Hank shrugged even as he shook his head.

‘He … said it would be amusing,’ he said at last. ‘But maybe he was trying to get this place more organised, trying to get it into the regimented alphabet system. We also have a Mike and a Juliet, if you’re interested.’ Logan wasn’t. Hank shook his head again. ‘Maybe he just liked the name. I don’t know. He’s a strange man. He – he frightens me, a little.’

‘I think he frightens us all, kid,’ Logan muttered darkly. He glanced around at the room, his eyes lingering on the Chair. ‘Hell, anyone who could come up with all this … well. That person is a person worth fearing.’

‘Yeah,’ Hank said in a small voice. 

There was silence for a moment.

Then Logan asked a question that he was unable to suppress, even though he very much wanted to.

‘Shaw,’ he asked awkwardly, his voice growing the slightest bit gruffer. ‘Has he – Did he …’ he trailed off and instead jerked his chin towards Charlie.

Hank frowned for a moment before he understood and then he blushed bright red, which was odd considering that he was the one responsible for programming the Dolls with their assignments in the first place.

‘I – I don’t know,’ he admitted, his face still red. ‘I’m – That’s Security’s job. They’re the ones who deal with the clients. I – I’m just the programmer.’ 

Logan’s jaw tightened. He knew that he shouldn’t be angry with Hank – what he himself was doing was little better, after all – but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself.

‘Yeah,’ he said harshly, his mouth pulling up into a sneer. ‘You’re just the guy who programmes them. Never mind that the poor bastards don’t have a clue what they’re being made to do. Never mind that the _client_ may be a fucking psychopath.’

Hank jerked at that, looking almost betrayed by the venom in Logan’s voice.

‘It’s not like that!’ he protested in a faltering voice. ‘There are multiple security checks, you know that! And it’s not like I don’t _care_ -’

‘Save it, bub,’ Logan said curtly, rising from where he was perched against the desk, suddenly tired of it all. ‘You don’t wanna say it and I sure as hell don’t wanna hear it.’ He turned and started to walk out of the room. ‘Come on, Charlie,’ he called behind him. ‘Time to see the Doc.’

Charlie smiled at that and immediately turned to follow his handler.

Hank, still slightly upset, waved a hand as he passed.

‘Goodbye Charlie.’

Charlie paused at the threshold, turning around to look at him. He was frowning. 

The pause caused Hank to look up. Seeing the expression on Charlie’s face, he himself began to frown in turn. 

Actives weren’t supposed to feel discontent; they were programmed to feel a sense of calm neutrality, a sense of mild contentedness. They weren’t programmed to specifically _feel_ things, negative emotions in particular. 

They weren’t supposed to react to any of the present stimuli with a _frown_.

‘Charlie?’ he asked hesitantly, taking a step forward towards the Doll.

There was another pause. Then Charlie looked up at him with wide, blue eyes.

‘My name is Charles,’ he said softly, before turning back around and walking out.


	3. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Erik it started with Magda.

For Erik it all started with Magda.

One day he was just a normal, blunt-faced police detective with a reputation for being a hard-ass, and the next he was ‘ _that_ guy’, the weirdo with the corner office who the others gossiped about while they loitered around the water cooler. 

Although, to be fair, the change wasn’t as abrupt as all that.

But it _had_ all started with Magda. 

Magda had been a beautiful young woman who had unfortunately got mixed up with the wrong man. She’d suffered abuse at his hands for years before finally reaching the end of her tether. She had somehow managed to procure a slow-acting poison which she’d used to generously lace her husband’s alcohol, and had then sat down opposite him and watched with cold satisfaction as the man slowly drank himself to death. The police found her there later, sitting in the same seat with a look of great relief and contentment on her face. She had called the police herself shortly after her husband had breathed his last.

Erik was the presiding detective on that case. He had felt sorry for Magda, but there was little that he could do. Despite the man’s years of abuse, Magda had never filed a report against her husband, had never gone to the police about him. Nor had anyone else noticed anything suspicious. The bastard may have been a drunkard but he was not stupid. He knew precisely what to hit and where to avoid in order to prevent outside comment. Add that to the fact that the murder was clearly premeditated, and it meant that Magda would be going away for quite some time.

By the time of the trial, Magda’s sense of satisfaction and serene countenance had disappeared and she finally seemed to understand the consequence of her actions. Her defence was almost half-hearted; she herself seemed resigned to her fate, and Erik watched the trial unfold with gritted teeth. Disappointed as he was in Magda’s lack of fighting spirit, he could not help but feel sorry for her, and he promised himself that, whatever happened, he would keep an eye on her.

In the end she got ten years in a minimum security prison. Erik had been in the courtroom when the verdict was announced and he had watched grimly as Magda had looked about her helplessly, fear and despair clearly visible on her face. She had been marched out of the courtroom in silence, the white skirt of her dress billowing out behind her, and the next time that Erik saw her, she was in an orange jumpsuit, eyes dim and hair lank.

He had visited her often, at the start. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do with his time off, and Magda had always seemed grateful for the company. He had slowly drawn her out of her shell and, although always somewhat intimidated by him, she had come to regard him as something of a friend. He in turn had grown vaguely fond of her, and so the visits that had started merely out of charity slowly grew to be something of a pleasure. It continued in this way for almost a year.

And then Magda disappeared.

Erik couldn’t believe it when he first heard the news. He had stared at the prison guard who had spoken to him, uncomprehending.

‘What do you mean she’s gone?’ he had snarled when he finally understood. ‘Where can she have gone?’

The guard shrugged.

‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘All I know is that two suits came in two days ago – some guy and some broad, real looker she was too – asking to see her and then the next day – _bam_. She walks out of here with those two suits, calm as you like, no longer a prisoner – not even wearing a pair of cuffs or nothing. No transfer papers, no explanations, no follow-up, nothing. And everything apparently clean and above-board, too.’ He shook his head. ‘Those suits must have had some pretty high clearance, I’m telling you. That, or the little lady was involved in some serious shit.’

Erik frowned. Magda _hadn’t_ been involved in any serious shit – he would know. He was the arresting officer on her case, after all, and he knew Magda. There was nothing remarkable about her at all, really, apart from her looks and her circumstances. He simply couldn’t understand what anyone would want with her.

He had followed up on her, of course. He had requested the CCTV footage of her meeting with the two visitors but had been immediately stonewalled; apparently the two anonymous agents had requisitioned the tape right before their departure, bringing that lead to a dead-end. Erik had also looked up Magda in every database he had access to, using whatever search-engine that he could find, but with no success. It was as if she had disappeared off the face of the earth. 

Erik tried everything he could. He listed Magda as a missing person; he got in touch with her old friends and neighbours; he even asked his contacts in various other government agencies to search their databases. He tried _everything_ – but he still couldn’t find her.

Before he knew it, a year had passed and, while still keeping her in his mind, Erik had slowly resigned himself to never solving the mystery of Magda’s disappearance.

And then he saw her again. 

He had been sitting in a bar, brooding over his latest case, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye, something that made him frown and turn around. And then he almost fell off his chair.

For there, in front of him, was Magda. And not Magda as he had seen her last, withdrawn and pale. This Magda was beautiful and vibrant, with sleek, shiny hair and a gaggle of admirers around her. Erik had stared at her in disbelief, his drink forgotten, and before he knew it he was walking across the bar, elbowing people out of the way and pulling up in front of her, planting himself right in front of her feet. 

The man next to her – a short, dumpy little chap who could never have scored a chick like Magda in his wildest dreams – frowned at Erik’s approach, and not-so-subtly tightened his arm around her. Magda smiled at his action but whispered something reassuring into his ear before looking up at Erik.

There wasn’t the slightest flicker of recognition in her eyes.

‘Hello there,’ she purred, giving Erik a seductive smile that he could swear she had never used in all the time that he had known her. ‘And who are you?’

Erik stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her manner, before narrowing his eyes.

‘You know very well who I am,’ he growled. ‘And you know what I’m going to ask you, too.’

A pucker appeared on Magda’s smooth forehead, and she looked at him with wide, curious eyes.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have the slightest clue who you are,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘Have we met before?’

Erik’s temper was beginning to fray.

‘Don’t play games with me, Magda,’ he said tightly. ‘Where _were_ you all this time? I’ve been searching for over a _year_.’

The woman’s expression suddenly cleared at that.

‘Ah,’ she said with a smirk. ‘There’s your trouble. You have the wrong girl. My name is _Janet_.’

Erik had stared at her. He had shaken his head and argued and had refused to believe her even when she had pulled out identification marking her as _Janet Forrester_ , not even when she had reeled off a number of intimate facts about herself without stumbling or giving any hint that she was making things up on the spot.

‘Look,’ she had said, exasperated when Erik still didn’t believe her. ‘My name is _Janet_ not _Magda_. I’m _married_ , for Christ’s sake – I’ve been married for _years_. Tell him, darling.’ She turned to the short, dumpy man next to her who had a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face. ‘Tell him how we got married right after high school, how we’ve known each other _forever_ , that there’s no chance of me being this Magda person.’

The man squirmed before nodding quickly.

‘Yeah,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Yeah, what she said.’

Erik narrowed his eyes at that. He wasn’t in the least bit swayed. He _knew_ Magda. This was her. Yes, her look and her manner was different – even her speech pattern was slightly changed, but this was her. He knew it. He had checked it the moment that he had drawn near – there, on the side of her neck, was the small birthmark that he had noticed from the first time he had met her. There, on her left arm, was a long shiny scar, the remnant of one of her dead husband’s alcohol-fuelled attacks. No, he was right about this, he was sure of it, and no flimsy story about being high-school sweethearts was going to sway him from his gut instinct that there was something horribly, horribly wrong here. Even if Magda didn’t seem to know it.

Their confrontation had been attracting quite a bit of attention, however, so Erik thought it prudent to withdraw – at least a little, so that no one would confront him or attempt to throw him out of the bar. He had apologised to Magda, pretending to finally believe her, before retreating over to a corner booth where he stayed and watched Magda all night, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He stayed in the same spot for over two hours, carefully monitoring his alcohol intake and trying to take surreptitious photos of the woman who claimed not to be Magda. 

At precisely midnight, two men entered the bar and Erik immediately sensed something off about them that made him slowly get to his feet. He weaved his way over towards where Magda was sat, pretending to want another drink and timing his arrival nearby to coincide with that of the two men. One of the men stopped a little distance away while the other approached Magda, a kindly look on his face. Erik clenched his fist and leaned forward as close as he dared in order to catch what was said.

‘Hello Janet,’ the man said in a kindly voice. ‘It’s time to leave.’

Magda cocked her head in surprise, smiling nevertheless.

‘It is?’ she asked curiously. She glanced over at her supposed husband, who avoided her gaze, glancing down miserably at his feet.

‘Yes,’ the man nodded. ‘It’s time for your treatment.’

‘Oh, my treatment!’ Magda exclaimed and immediately got to her feet. ‘What didn’t you say so?’ She smiled. ‘I like my treatments.’ She turned to her fake-husband with a smile. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie,’ she cooed. ‘This will just take a second.’

The man didn’t so much as protest. He merely nodded at the man escorting Magda away, before sighing and wandering over to the bar where he proceeded to order himself a very large glass of scotch.

Erik, in the meantime, had managed to hear everything. And he didn’t like it one bit. Everything he saw pointed towards Magda being involved in some sort of elaborate, high-class prostitution ring, and the idea sickened him. Not to mention that all this talk about ‘treatments’ made him very apprehensive. 

He quickly followed Magda and her companions outside, trying to act as calm and casual as he could. At least, he tried to do so until he saw Magda get into a plain black van with the two men, and then he could take it no longer. He ran after them, pulling out his detective’s badge with one hand, and his gun with the other.

‘Freeze!’ he had snarled, holding the gun out in front of him as he ran towards the van. 

The vehicle didn’t even pause. Erik had barely enough time to get out of the way before the van was zooming past him, its dark-tinted windows preventing him from seeing anything inside. 

He swore viciously as it sped away. Luckily, he’d managed to get a clear view of the van’s licence plates and he grimly resolved that the first thing that he would do upon returning to the office was to look up the licence plate and chase down the owners.

For now, though, he had another avenue to chase.

After swiping his hair back and taking a minute to calm himself, he slowly made his way back to the same bar that he had been sitting at all evening. He walked in coolly, his eyes immediately fixed on the corner of the bar where Magda’s – no, _Janet’s_ – supposed husband was busy drinking himself into a stupor.

Erik took a moment to gather himself and to fix on a suitable manner for interrogation before moving forward. He came to a rest at the man’s side and quickly ordered a scotch from the bartender. The man beside him looked over upon registering his presence, only to scowl. 

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said grumpily, going back to his drink.

‘Indeed,’ Erik agreed. He received his drink and immediately took a small sip from it. ‘So,’ he said casually. ‘How do you know Magda?’

The man stiffened at the question before slowly relaxing.

‘Told you,’ he said, still not meeting Erik’s eyes. ‘I don’t know no Magda. That woman – she’s my wife. Janet.’

Erik allowed a slow, dangerous smile to slide on to his face, one that didn’t meet his eyes. The man beside him glanced up almost despite himself and immediately gulped and gazed back down. 

‘There’s a problem with that,’ Erik said in a silky-smooth voice. ‘And the problem is that I simply don’t believe you. You and I _both_ know that that woman’s name is not Janet, and we certainly know that she has not been married to you since high school, don’t we?’

The man swallowed again and didn’t say anything.

‘Tell me,’ Erik drawled. ‘Were you really so desperate that you resorted to hiring out a prostitute to make you feel better?’

The man jerked up at that.

‘She is _not_ a prostitute!’ he hissed, his eyes narrowing in anger.

Erik quickly suppressed his sense of satisfaction at getting a rise out of his target.

‘Really?’ he said instead, looking almost bored. ‘Because it certainly seemed that way to me. And that man who picked her up – was that her pimp? He certainly seemed like the type, yes?’

The man bit his lip angrily and, instead of answering, took another long gulp of his drink. He was well on the way to being completely plastered, something that Erik was going to take as much advantage of as he could.

‘Not to mention that fact that Magda is a missing person …’ Erik continued, looking at the glass in his hand speculatively. ‘As well as a former convict who mysteriously disappeared one day, leaving no trace behind her. I think this calls for a serious investigation, don’t you?’

The man was sweating now and he couldn’t hide his nervousness. He glanced at Erik and licked his lips.

‘Look,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I know _nothing_ about all that, I swear. I just met the girl and-’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Erik snapped, finally having had enough of this. He turned the full force of his glare on the man, who cowered in the face of it. ‘In fact, I don’t believe a _single_ word that you have said to me all evening. And just so you know,’ he paused and his eyes narrowed into angry slits, ‘I am getting _very_ impatient with you.’

The man swallowed and he cast a desperate look around.

‘I _can’t_!’ he whined. ‘They’ll be angry! I don’t know what they will – They’re _powerful_ , you know? They don’t like anybody messing with their business!’

‘Who?’ Erik demanded coldly. His mind was moving fast, flicking through the names of the gangs and local mafia that dealt with prostitution.

The man gave Erik a fearful look, licking his lips desperately. When Erik didn’t so much as blink at his obvious distress, however, he slumped down, surrendering.

‘The Dollhouse,’ he whispered, and Erik’s blood went cold. ‘Janet – your Magda – she belongs to the Dollhouse.’

*****

And that was how Erik had gone from being a feared and respected – even if frequently avoided – detective, to being an odd, ridiculed and _still_ frequently avoided one. Not that he minded the latter of course, and the titters of his colleagues meant little to him, except where they stung his pride where he allowed himself to mull over it. 

Because _everyone_ knew about the Dollhouse. They knew about it in the same way that they knew about the tooth fairy, or the Loch Ness monster. It was a fairytale, albeit a disturbing one; one that was whispered in the back corners of bars and floated through the underground, as opposed to being told in the bedrooms of little children.

The Dollhouse, where the minds of pretty young men and women were extracted and replaced with the minds and memories and skills of others; where feelings and personalities were changed and altered like outfits on a Barbie doll. The mere concept of it made Erik shudder. The thought that it might be real … his blood went cold whenever he so much as thought about it.

And so he began to pour all of his time and energy into finding the Dollhouse, trying to dig up as much information on it as he could. He may as well have been trying to locate Camelot, as far as his colleagues were concerned. He had just as much luck with it, as well: everywhere he turned, he was met with a dead-end. Even the licence plate that he had run had turned up blank. There seemed to be no information _anywhere_. Worse still, it seemed that word of his search had passed on and he found himself being relegated to the most mundane and mind-numbing cases in the whole department, as if someone high up was trying to punish him for his interest in the Dollhouse. He had only the fact that he was a detective to thank for the fact that he didn’t end up doing traffic duty.

But as time went on, he found his confidence beginning to wane. It was hard to be focused and driven when there was nothing to focus _on_. One by one all his leads seemed to vanish, until he was left with nothing.

Erik came very, very close to giving up, then. In fact, he had quite resolved to throw in the towel and end this nonsense, tired of the thankless task he had set for himself. He simply couldn’t see anything else that he could do that he hadn’t already done. It was time to move on, and to close the case on Magda once and for all, never mind how much he hated giving up on anything.

And then one day he received a plain brown envelope that had appeared along with the rest of the post in his hallway despite having nothing but his name printed on it in big, block letters.

Inside the envelope was just one thing: a large, clear picture of a handsome man with bright blue eyes, floppy brown hair and almost indecently red lips, with a bright, beaming smile on his face.

Erik had stared at the photograph, nonplussed, before slowly turning the picture around.

On the back were just two words.

_Find him._


	4. Interlude (Progress)

Charlie smiled as he was joined at the dinner table by a man with dark skin and smiling eyes.

‘Hello, Darwin,’ he greeted him.

‘Hello, Charlie,’ Darwin smiled back.

‘Oh, my name is not Charlie anymore,’ Charlie said cheerfully.

Darwin blinked.

‘It’s not?’ he asked, mild curiosity entering his tone.

‘No,’ Charlie shook his head. ‘It’s Charles.’

‘Oh,’ Darwin smiled. ‘Hello, Charles.’

‘Hello, Darwin,’ Charles replied.

They were still smiling at each other when another figure entered the dining area. Darwin’s eyes lit up.

‘It’s Havok!’ he said joyfully. His smile dipped slightly when he saw that Havok was walking towards an empty table. ‘Oh, he will be on his own.’

Charles turned, his face serene, and saw Havok walking past.

‘Good afternoon, Havok,’ he greeted him pleasantly.

The blonde boy paused and turned to face him.

‘Good afternoon, Charlie,’ he replied. He then turned his face to Darwin and his smile widened even further. ‘Good afternoon, Darwin.’

‘Good afternoon,’ Darwin smiled back.

‘Will you sit with us?’ Charles asked. ‘It is good to be together.’

‘Being alone makes us sad,’ Darwin agreed seriously.

‘Then I will sit with you,’ Havok inclined his head, before taking a seat next to them.

They all then calmly began to eat their food.

‘I enjoy our meals,’ Darwin said, carefully spooning up the peas on his plate.

‘Eating nutritious meals is important,’ Charles said, nodding. ‘It helps us be at our best.’

‘I always want to be at my best,’ Havok said earnestly.

‘Me too,’ Darwin agreed.

‘Do you, Charlie?’ Havok asked politely, looking at Charles.

‘His name is not Charlie anymore,’ Darwin informed him.

‘Oh,’ Havok paused, taking this information in. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s Charles,’ Charles said with a smile.

‘Oh,’ Havok nodded. ‘Hello, Charles.’

‘Hello, Havok,’ Charles replied.

They continued to eat their peas.

*****

It was like hitting the jackpot.

One minute Erik had nothing, and the next he had struck gold.

It didn’t even matter that the Man-in-the-Photograph’s trail had abruptly ceased over three years ago. Instead of finding this discouraging, the news had bolstered Erik. The Man had disappeared _exactly_ like Magda had, suddenly and abruptly. Erik was willing to bet his bottom dollar that, should the man ever pop up on his radar, he would have a completely different name and identity and be none the wiser of the change. 

Erik smiled grimly to himself. He was on the right track, he knew it. He didn’t know who he had received his anonymous tip from, but at that moment he couldn’t really bring himself to care. A lead was a lead, and this one was going to take him right to the Dollhouse.

Smile still on his face, Erik brought his gaze up to look on the picture that he had been almost obsessively gazing at for the past forty-eight hours. He had carefully stuck it on the wall in front of his desk, and every second that wasn’t spent with his eyes on the computer screen in front of him was fixed on the blue eyes and red lips that smiled out at him from the picture.

_I will find you,_ he silently promised the smiling man. _Whatever I need to do, whatever it takes, I will find you._

His eyes trailed down to the bottom of the photograph where he had carefully printed the man’s name in big, bold letters with a black marker pen, and he smiled.

_Charles Xavier,_ he swore. _I will find you._


	5. Disadvantaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Logan are called to Emma Frost's office to discuss a problem with one of the Actives.

‘I’m sorry, but _what_?’ 

Hank cringed under Emma’s icy stare and he turned to glance nervously at Logan, who was standing off to the side, looking completely unperturbed by the whole business.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hank stammered out. ‘I mean – not that I know what I’m sorry _about_ exactly, considering that this has never happened before and never even been an issue, but – it’s not a problem, I’m _sure_ it’s not a problem.’

Emma Frost rose from where she had been sitting at her desk, and though Hank was a good few inches taller than her, he still shrank back under the force of her presence.

‘ _Not a problem,_ ’ she repeated silkily. ‘Did you just say that _this_ is _not_ a _problem_?’

Hank swallowed and made a sound that might have been a whimper.

Emma shut her eyes and brought up an elegant white hand to pinch her nose. She was breathing deeply.

‘Well, Mr. McCoy,’ she said at last, eyes still shut, ‘Allow me to disabuse you of that particular notion.’ Her eyes snapped open. ‘ _This_ most certainly _is_ a problem!’

Logan let out a snort, and was immediately rewarded with an icy glare from Emma.

‘Don’t think that I don’t also blame you for this, Mr. Howlett,’ she said coldly. ‘I was aware when I took you on that your methods of handling our Actives would differ from the norm, but I most certainly did not expect this!’

Logan looked at her for a moment before raising an eyebrow.

‘Firstly,’ he drawled, ‘I have nothing to say to that that you would want to hear. Secondly: what exactly is the big deal here?’

Emma froze. Slowly, she turned on her pointed white heels and fixed Logan with a piercing stare.

‘The _big deal_ , Mr. Howlett,’ she said tightly, ‘is that Charlie now wants to be called _Charles_.’

There was a pause.

‘…Yeah,’ Logan said slowly. ‘But I don’t see how that’s a problem. It’s – what? – two letters?’

Emma glowered at him.

‘You’re missing the point!’ she snapped, frustrated. ‘The point is that Charlie has an _opinion_.’

It took a moment for Logan to figure out what she meant. Something flickered in his eyes and he stood up straighter. Emma almost let out a sigh of relief when she saw that he had finally caught on.

‘So what are you saying?’ Logan asked cautiously. ‘You’re saying that Charlie is _awake_?’

‘No!’ Hank said immediately, drawing their attention. ‘Not at all. That is jumping completely ahead of the facts. There is absolutely nothing to suggest that Charlie is aware of anything other than what we allow him.’

‘Then explain to me how he suddenly has an _opinion_ , and how that opinion regards the use of his _real name_?’ Emma snapped.

There was a pause at that, in which Hank’s mouth moved up and down as he tried to come up with some sort of an excuse.

Logan felt it was high time that he stepped in.

‘I think I might know the answer to that,’ he said evenly, taking a step forward. He was immediately pinned by Emma’s stern gaze.

‘Explain,’ she said curtly.

‘Well,’ Logan threw Hank and swift look. ‘Me and Hank here were talking some, just after Charlie returned from one of his assignments – you know, the shooting one.’ He waited for Emma’s sharp nod, after which he continued. ‘And while we were talking, we somehow got onto the subject of names.’

Emma’s eyes narrowed.

‘Yeah,’ Logan agreed, scratching the back of his neck. ‘I guess we kinda got carried away, and the kid here-’ he jerked his thumb at a petrified-looking Hank – ‘let slip about how Charlie’s real name was Charles, and then I started asking some questions and … well, I guess Charlie heard it all. It musta stuck somehow.’

There was a pause.

‘I see,’ Emma said after a moment, her eyes still narrowed. ‘And I don’t suppose either of you geniuses thought to start this conversation up _after_ the Active had left the room?’ She turned her cold eyes from Logan to Hank.

Logan shrugged.

‘No, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I guess we just thought that it wouldn’t matter, see? That Charlie wouldn’t even understand it, seeing as he’s … well – not all there.’

Emma’s mouth tightened. Impossibly, the room’s temperature seemed to abruptly grow a few degrees colder.

‘This is precisely the type of careless attitude that I have been trying to stamp out,’ she hissed, taking both Logan and Hank by surprise. ‘And I must say that I expected this from any number of my men here, but the two of you? After all the time you’ve spent watching them? Programming them?’ Her eyes fell on Logan. ‘ _Caring_ for them?’ She shook her head as the other two lowered their eyes, shame-faced. ‘How many times have I told you that our Actives are like _children_? Children understand a lot more than one would care to believe. And by treating them like they don’t understand – like they don’t exist? Not only will it lead to carelessness – which, in this line of work is _unforgivable_ – but it also puts our Actives at risk, something that I simply _will not_ tolerate.’

Logan frowned, bringing his head up.

‘How does that put the Dolls at risk?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘They’ve got all the handlers and security teams looking after them – and everyone here’s part of the Shaw Foundation …’

Emma’s mouth tightened.

‘And we can be our own worst enemies, Mr. Howlett,’ she said darkly. ‘We are so busy looking for problems on the outside that we do not spot them when they occur within.’ She paused, before taking a deep breath and explaining. ‘Treating our Actives carelessly leads to their objectification, and _that_ , Mr. Howlett, leads to them being taken advantage of.’ Her cold eyes met Logan’s and held them as realisation dawned on him. ‘I see that you finally understand me. We must never forget that our Actives – that these _people_ – are under our care and that they rely on us to look after them and keep them from harm. To do anything less is to break the faith that they put in us.’

‘And has that happened?’ Logan growled, expression suddenly fierce. ‘Has an Active ever been … _taken advantage of_?’

Emma’s lips thinned.

‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘Not here, thankfully. It happened in the LA House. A handler was found to be subjecting his Active to systematic sexual abuse. He was found and dealt with.’

‘Dealt with?’ Logan cocked his head to the side, sounding almost suspicious.

‘The Attic,’ Hank supplied helpfully. When Logan didn’t look any more enlightened, he continued. ‘It’s what happens to rogue Actives. Basically, you’re put in the Chair and your mind is erased from-’

‘That’s _quite_ enough, Dr. McCoy,’ Emma interrupted, causing Hank to immediately fumble and start blushing. She turned to Logan. ‘It hardly matters, Mr. Howlett. The only relevant detail is that it was taken care of.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And I will be damned before I let it happen again on my watch.’

‘That’s why you don’t want us getting too close to our Actives,’ Logan said slowly. ‘That’s why you’re always going on at me to not get too attached to Charlie. You’re worried that it will happen again.’

Emma nodded briefly, her voice taking on a contemplative tone. 

‘I have always felt that the ideal relationship between Active and Handler should be rather like that between a child and their parent.’ She gave Logan a pointed look. ‘So when the time comes to let your pseudo-child go, you do so without the slightest shred of jealousy in your heart. You let them go and then you welcome them back when they need you, and there is no judgement. No judgement and no anger. Even if they do something that you don’t personally agree with.’

Logan grunted and looked away. 

Emma’s expression softened.

‘I know,’ she said, sounding strangely gentle. ‘It’s easier in theory than in practice. Now,’ her tone changed once more into that of brusque efficiency. ‘What are we to do about Charlie?’

Logan immediately stiffened, his muscles tensing.

‘Do?’ Hank blinked. ‘Well – nothing, of course! Apart from this one minor incident – which Logan has already explained to you, if you recall – there is nothing the matter with Charles. _Charlie_ , I mean. Besides,’ he added eagerly. ‘I think it’s _fascinating_. It will really add another dimension to my theory on the Actives’ consciousness and their sense of …’ he trailed off at Emma’s less than impressed look.

There was silence for a moment as Emma appraised them both. Then she sighed and waved a hand.

‘Very well,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘We shall take no action at the current time. _However_ ,’ she added as Hank and Logan let out simultaneous sighs of relief, ‘I want Charlie watched, and I want to know the _second_ that something out of the ordinary occurs. Do you understand me?’

Both men, fixed to the spot by Emma’s powerful glare, nodded quickly.

‘Good,’ and Emma was once more her normal, unreadable self. ‘I will be watching closely. That will be all, gentleman.’ And with that, she turned her back on them.

Logan and Hank shared a look before moving towards the door. Before he left, however, Logan paused, an oddly-serious look on his face.

‘You’d tell me, right?’ he said abruptly, causing Emma to raise her head in mild surprise at the question. ‘If anything … _wrong_ was happening here, I mean. Or if it involved Charlie.’

Emma didn’t answer immediately. When Logan finally turned to glance at her, she was staring at him with a cool, contemplative expression.

‘Naturally,’ she said calmly, when she saw that she had his attention. ‘You are, after all, his handler, are you not?’

Logan didn’t respond.

‘Well then,’ Emma said, her eyes now boring into his, ‘If there was anything to tell, then naturally I would have already told you.’

Logan scrutinised her for a moment before huffing out a dry laugh.

‘Right,’ he drawled, ‘ _Naturally._ ’ He tilted his head and flicked her an almost mocking salute. ‘Thanks for the talk, _boss_.’ And with that he stalked out, shutting the door behind him.

Hank was still there, nervously waiting for him just outside the door. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Logan.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ he said, grinning awkwardly. ‘For a moment there, I honestly thought that you wouldn’t walk out of that office alive.’

Logan, however, didn’t respond. He was frowning, looking deep in thought.

‘She lied,’ he said abruptly.

Hank, startled, glanced at him.

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘When?’

Logan gave him a wry look.

‘You really need me to tell you?’ he asked sardonically, before continuing, ‘When she said that nothing wrong was going on. When she said that nothing like the LA incident was happening here. But it _is_ , isn’t it?’ he said, suddenly fierce, his fists clenching. ‘With them all. That’s what they _do_ , right? I mean, isn’t this whole shindig just a fancy-ass way of taking advantage of them?’

Hank looked at his feet, unable to answer.

Logan grunted, his expression bitter.

‘Yeah,’ he said darkly. ‘And that’s not even counting whatever screwed up shit is going on with Charlie and Shaw.’

Hank’s head jerked up at that.

‘Charlie and Shaw?’ he frowned.

Logan turned to look at him then, his expression inscrutable. He watched Hank closely for a moment, before finally speaking.

‘If you honestly think that there isn’t something fucked up about Shaw’s interest in Charlie,’ he said slowly, ‘then you’re a goddamn naïve bastard.’

And with that he turned and walked away.


	6. Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles meets one of the university's benefactors. 
> 
>  
> 
> Takes place before all other parts of the Dollhouse AU.

_Three years and six months ago,_

‘Welcome to the university, Mr. Shaw,’ Charles smiled his most charming smile, reaching forward to shake the man’s hand. ‘It truly is an honour to have you with us here today.’

The man in front of him – Sebastian Shaw, founder of the highly secretive (not to mention infamous) Shaw Foundation for Scientific Research – stepped forward, his smile even wider than the one that Charles was wearing. His eyes gleamed with an oddly exultant expression as he slid his hand across Charles’s palm.

‘Believe me,’ he said, a distinct purr in his voice as he clutched Charles’s hand intimately, ‘The pleasure, dear Professor, is _all_ mine.’ His gaze raked over Charles as he spoke, brazenly allowing his eyes to linger in a way that he had definitely not done when greeting the rest of the waiting academics.

Charles blinked. 

This, he thought blankly, was unexpected.

‘Oh – yes,’ he stammered out after an awkward moment, sneaking a glance around at the other members of the welcoming committee. They were all smiling pleasantly, either unconcerned or otherwise ignorant of Shaw’s oddly suggestive behaviour. Forcing himself to ignore the sudden uneasy feeling that trailed down his spine, Charles shook himself and continued. ‘Your generous donation came as a surprise to us all – a most welcome one, I must say – but a surprise nonetheless. May I ask what prompted you to make such a benevolent gesture, Mr. Shaw?’

‘Please,’ Shaw smiled, his shiny white teeth gleaming brightly, ‘call me Sebastian.’

Charles faltered, caught off-balance once more, but politeness dictated that he respond in kind.

‘Of course, Sebastian,’ he smiled politely. ‘And please – call me Charles.’

Shaw beamed.

‘I think I will,’ he murmured, his eyes glinting as he looked at Charles. It was only when Charles shifted uncomfortably that he pulled his eyes away. ‘And as for your question – well, the answer is that I have been following the university’s research into the human genome with a great deal of interest for quite some time now. It’s a fascinating branch of science, is it not?’

‘Absolutely,’ Charles responded eagerly, relieved to be back on even footing. ‘And we are progressing at a truly remarkable rate, knowledge-wise. We now know things that a mere two years ago would have been _unthinkable_.’ He could see one of the university’s chancellors nodding enthusiastically at him and making little gestures of encouragement behind Shaw’s back. Pasting on a pleasant smile to hide his grimace, Charles swallowed his pride and continued. ‘It’s the donations of generous benefactors such as _yourself_ , Mr. Shaw-’

‘Sebastian.’

‘- _Sebastian_ , that make such progress possible,’ Charles said as earnestly as he could manage. ‘The department’s budget _is_ remarkably generous, I should hasten to add, but one always feels rather constrained when having to take costs into account. Science should never be restricted by so small a thing as _money_ , I always say.’

‘I completely agree with you,’ Shaw looked almost ridiculously pleased at Charles’s words. ‘Progress should not be confined by other people’s petty little scruples,’ he said fervently. ‘Only think of what could be achieved if people put aside their financial and moral qualms and dared to think outside the box that society has confined them to!’

Charles’s brow furrowed.

‘Well, I don’t know if I would completely agree with that,’ he said dubiously, forgetting himself for a moment. ‘I mean, doing away with squabbles over funding would be one thing, but morals? No,’ he shook his head. ‘I think that having a good moral code and a strong sense of ethics is _necessary_ in a good scientist. To not have them … well, that would be rather disastrous for everyone, I think.’

Shaw was giving Charles an evaluating look, his gaze shrewd and considering.

There was a pause as the rest of the welcoming committee muttered in the background. 

Then Shaw let out a booming laugh.

‘You’re not afraid to make your opinions known, are you Charlie?’ he said happily, clapping Charles on the shoulder. ‘I like that!’

Charles grimaced. He _hated_ the name Charlie. 

‘Thank you,’ he said with a tight smile. ‘And it’s _Charles_.’

Shaw didn’t seem to have heard him though.

‘Come on then,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘I want to see what it is that my money paid for. Lead the way, Charlie!’

Charles opened him mouth to protest against the name once more, but then he caught the eye of the chancellor, who was furiously shaking his head, glaring at Charles meaningfully.

Charles closed his eyes and sighed. After a moment, he reluctantly opened them again.

_Charlie it is,_ he thought resignedly, before stretching his mouth into a smile and walking forward.

*

Charles got back home late that evening. He sank down into the comforting arms of his beloved sofa the moment the door was shut behind him, letting out a sigh of relief as he lifted his feet up onto the seat. The tour of the university grounds had taken a long time and the others, seeing that Shaw seemed to have taken a particular shine to Charles, had decided to step back and take a background role, leaving it to Charles to steer and direct the tour. This had the unfortunate side-effect of having Shaw’s eyes fixed to his every move for the entire day and while Charles was not unused to having appreciative eyes on him – quite the contrary, in fact – there was something about Shaw that was distinctly off-putting, unsettling in a way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He shuddered. He’d had more than enough of the man after spending the entire day with him at the university. The last thing he needed to do was to bring Shaw home with him as well – literally _or_ figuratively. 

His plans to take a nice, relaxing bath and forget about Sebastian Shaw were thwarted, however, by the whirlwind entrance of his sister, Raven, who stalked into the room with a determined expression on her face and a look in her eyes that was often the precursor to Charles having to pull out both his cheque-book and his most convincing expression of sincere apology.

‘Well,’ Raven said haughtily, coming to an abrupt stop in front of him and giving him a thoroughly unimpressed once-over. ‘How did it go?’

Charles sighed. He had very much hoped to avoid any strenuous conversation until after he’d had a bath.

‘How did _what_ go, Raven?’ he asked wearily, mentally wincing when he realised that he had given Raven the opening that she had been waiting for.

‘Why, your _fraternisation with the enemy_ , of course!’ Raven shot back accusingly. She crossed her arms and looked into her brother’s face. ‘Well?’ she demanded when he didn’t immediately respond. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

Charles rolled his eyes and, sitting up, pushed his hair away from his forehead.

‘For the last time, Raven,’ he said patiently, ‘Sebastian Shaw is _not_ the enemy.’

This, of course, was the completely wrong thing to say to his passionate activist of a sister.

‘ _Not the enemy?_ ’ she repeated incredulously. ‘I can’t believe you! Charles – don’t you know what the Shaw Foundation _does_?’

‘Not entirely,’ Charles admitted, before narrowing his eyes. ‘But then again, neither do you.’

‘I know enough!’ Raven declared, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘I know that prior to creating the Shaw Foundation, Sebastian Shaw was suspected of having experimented on everything from bunny rabbits to gorillas, _and_ of having secretly paid out huge amounts of money to keep people silent about the fact that his labs were breaking about a hundred ethical and scientific guidelines a day!’

Charles frowned, reluctantly remembering the way that Shaw had so carelessly waved away the importance of ethical restrictions surrounding scientific experimentation just that morning.

Raven was still talking.

‘And as for the fact that we don’t know what the Shaw Foundation gets up to now? Well, that just makes it _way_ more suspicious in my book! Why would he keep everything so secret and hush-hush if he wasn’t up to no good?’

Charles rubbed at his forehead and wished for the hundredth time that Raven’s arguments wouldn’t sound so sensible.

‘Well,’ he said evenly, more in the interests of fairness than out of any real desire to rile her by disagreeing, ‘Competition, for one. A lot of these big industries are very protective of their work, and with good reason – you wouldn’t _believe_ some of the stories you hear about industrial espionage. But honestly, Raven,’ Charles said, ignoring the look of impatience on his sister’s face. ‘The man could be inventing a cure to _cancer_ , for all we know.’

Raven just gave him a look.

‘You met him,’ she said bluntly. ‘Do _you_ think that he’s the type to find the cure to cancer?’

Charles thought back to his time with Shaw and was unable to suppress a shudder.

Unfortunately, Raven saw this.

‘Ha!’ she exclaimed triumphantly, pointing a gleeful finger at him. ‘Ha, you think so too! I saw that, brother dearest, and you _cringed_. You think the guy’s as much of a creep as I do!’

Charles scowled.

‘Well,’ he sniffed, feeling slightly disgruntled, ‘That may be so, but _unlike_ you, I don’t plan to go storming his headquarters in the dead of night and then going and getting myself arrested just because I think the man is – and I quote – “a creep”.’

But Raven was smirking.

‘Oh please,’ she said breezily, throwing herself down into the chair opposite his. ‘You may as well admit that you don’t like him. Don’t worry, I wont hold it against you. The man’s a ruthless, murdering bastard, after all.’

Charles rolled his eyes.

‘Raven,’ he sighed. ‘You can’t just go around calling people _murderers_ , you know.’

‘But he _kills animals_ , Charles!’ Raven protested, her easy manner suddenly disappearing and being quickly replaced by seething outrage. ‘The bastard _uses_ them and _experiments_ on them and _kills_ them! How is that not murder?’

Charles was shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said apologetically. ‘But legally, it’s only murder if it’s done to a human being.’ He responded to Raven’s look of disbelief with a shrug. ‘The law is the law, I’m afraid.’

Raven’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

‘Screw the law!’ she hissed. ‘It’s made by a bunch of greedy old bastards who spend their time looking down on people from their goddamn thrones in the sky and who care _nothing_ about the rest of the world! They can go fuck themselves, for all I care!’

‘Raven!’ Charles chided, rubbing ruefully at his forehead and dreading the headache that was sure to appear soon. ‘Please don’t swear, love, you know I hate it when you do. And it’s hardly the fault of the lawmen that Shaw hasn’t been convicted. There was never any proof about him, you know, nothing at all to tie him to any sort of animal experimentation or unsafe scientific procedures.’

‘That’s because the guy’s a fucking weasel,’ Raven snarled. ‘He destroyed half the evidence and paid people off to get rid of the rest. I know he’s guilty. I _know_ it. And I swear it, Charles, he’s doing something messed up in those labs. Something well and truly fucked up. I can feel it in my fucking bones.’

Charles shifted uneasily, unwilling to believe that even a man such as Sebastian Shaw would be capable of the things that Raven was intimating. Then remembered the man’s words and the horrible, greasy sensation of Shaw’s eyes on him, and he couldn’t help but shudder again.

‘I know that this will come as a shock to you,’ he said, with a rather forced laugh, ‘but I’m afraid that I can actually believe it. He didn’t seem very convinced by the idea that ethics have a place in a scientific laboratory. And he kept changing the subject whenever I brought up the idea of visiting his labs.’

Despite almost frothing at the mouth in hatred of Shaw, Raven softened at her brother’s admission. She smirked at his last sentence.

‘Maybe he just found you a deathly dull old fuddy-duddy, brother dearest, and wanted to get rid of you as quickly as possible,’ she teased.

Charles’s expression abruptly fell at that, and he let out a rather brittle laugh.

‘I seriously doubt it,’ he said dryly, not meeting her eyes, ‘Considering the way that he was mentally stripping me the whole way through …’ He shuddered again and found himself thinking longingly of the shower in the other room.

Raven’s head, however, snapped up at his words.

‘He _what_?’ she shrieked, her eyes widening even as her fists clenched in anger. ‘That sleazy _fuck_!’ She bolted up in her seat, her eyes flashing as she pinned her brother with her ferocious gaze. ‘I swear to god, Charles, you better not be thinking about sleeping with him, or I promise you, I will-’

‘Hush, darling,’ Charles soothed her, interrupting before she could go any further. ‘You’re worrying over nothing. There’s no way on earth that I am going to ever sleep with Sebastian Shaw, never fear.’

Raven’s ire subsided at that.

‘You sure?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘Only, it’s not as if you are the _fussiest_ person in the world when it comes to sleeping with people …’

‘Thanks for that,’ Charles said dryly, before shaking his head. ‘But no, don’t worry. I do have _some_ standards, you know, and I’m afraid that _Sebastian_ -’ he shuddered, ‘-doesn’t quite make the cut.’ He gave his sister a look. ‘Quite frankly, I would have to be completely out of my head to even _contemplate_ sleeping with him.’

Raven looked mollified at that and she settled back into her chair, closing her eyes as she did so.

‘I’m glad,’ she murmured. ‘I worry for you, you know.’

‘I know,’ Charles said softly.

‘And people like Shaw-’ Raven’s mouth tensed and when she opened her eyes, they were full of anger, ‘People like him need to be _stopped_ , they need to be _exposed_ so that the world can see them for who they really are!’

Charles could see that his sister was heading into dangerous territory, so he quickly tried to head her off as best he could.

‘Right you are,’ he said, sitting up in his chair, ‘but as I have now spent more than the fair share of my day focussing on Sebastian Shaw, I would very much like it if we could spend the rest of the night pretending that the man doesn’t exist.’ He threw Raven a sideways glance. ‘How about you order us some food while I go and take a quick shower, and then we can spend the rest of the night eating takeaway and watching trashy TV?’

Raven’s mouth twitched at that, and her face relaxed tentatively into the warm, sunny expression that Charles loved.

‘Oh, go on then,’ she said, rolling her eyes as Charles beamed at her, leaping up from his seat to press an enthusiastic kiss against her cheek. ‘But if you’re not out of the shower by the time it gets here, then I’m starting without you.’

‘Deal,’ Charles smiled, before eagerly bounding out of the room.

Raven watched him go for a moment, her expression fond. Her smile dimmed, however, when her brother went out of sight, and her eyes narrowed slightly. She bit her lip, chewing it anxiously as she mulled things over. When she finally straightened up, her expression was one of fierce determination.

‘Sorry, Charles,’ she muttered to herself, ‘but I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.’ 

Then, with a nod to herself, she turned and headed for the telephone, pulling out a stack of takeaway menus as she did so.

Ten minutes later, Charles was out of the bath, feeling fresh and clean and happy.

Five minutes after that, the food arrived and they both settled down on the sofa together, faces turned towards the TV.

Seven days later, Raven disappeared.


	7. Getting To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik learns more about the man in the photograph, Charles Xavier.

From what Erik could tell, no one seemed to care very much about Charles’s disappearance.

… But no, that wasn’t right. 

For people seemed to care about _Charles_ , that much was certain. The picture that Erik got of him from the people that he talked to was a very flattering one – one that, Erik was pleased to note, complemented his own mental image of the man he was searching for. The problem wasn’t that they didn’t care; it was more that they weren’t _concerned_.

‘Nonsense,’ he was told by one overly-condescending senior lecturer. ‘Charles isn’t missing. Far too smart to be one of _those_ people,’ he said with a sniff, and Erik had to severely restrain himself from punching the man squarely on his pointed, upturned nose. ‘No, no, he’s off in some secret lab, no doubt, working away at some problem or the other. He’ll resurface soon enough, don’t you worry.’

And that was the problem; everyone seemed to believe that Charles Xavier was off in some top-secret bunker, doing some classified, hush-hush work for god only knew who.

‘It’s kind of what he hinted at,’ one of Xavier’s old lab assistants said when Erik questioned him. ‘That he had got some sort of offer and he was taking it and that we shouldn’t search for him as he would be … how did he put it? – “deep underground”.’

Erik’s eyebrows rose.

‘Yeah,’ the man grinned. ‘Sounds like some sort of spy gig, doesn’t it? I would think so too, but Charles, bless his heart, doesn’t have a secretive bone in his body.’

Erik had smiled at that. No, he thought, remembering the bright, trusting face from the picture, Charles wasn’t the type to hide things. He would be open and honest and sincere, and –

The lab-assistant began to speak once more, breaking Erik’s reverie.

‘I’m sure he’s all right, though,’ the man was saying. ‘He can look after himself, Charles, even if he doesn’t quite look like it. Plus there’s the fact that he’d never let anything happen to his sister.’

Erik’s head jerked up.

‘Sister?’ he repeated. ‘Charles has a sister?’

The lab-assistant gave him an odd look – was it because he hadn’t known about the existence of the sister or because he had referred to the man’s colleague as “Charles” instead of “Xavier”? – before speaking.

‘Yeah,’ he said slowly. ‘Younger than him. Completely unlike him in almost every way.’ The corners of his mouth pulled up in a smile. ‘I met her one night when Charles and I went out for drinks. The two of them together are … interesting.’ He smiled fondly.

Erik found himself gritting his teeth, startled by the sudden curl of jealousy that seared through him. He frowned, shaking his head at the unexpected emotion. Quickly pushing it to the side, he determinedly focused his attention on the man in front of him.

‘What was her name?’ he asked brusquely, trying not to scowl at the man. ‘The sister, I mean.’

The assistant frowned.

‘I actually can’t quite remember,’ he admitted almost guiltily. ‘I know, I know – I met the girl and everything but I was quite drunk at the time, you understand. Charles talked about her all the time, though. What was her name? Something unusual, I think. Raina? Rowena? Or – Robin. Maybe it was Robin.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said apologetically. ‘I just can’t seem to put my finger on it.’

Erik grunted at that, and after a few more questions, had gruffly thanked the man and left.

_A sister,_ he thought to himself. That changed things somewhat. There was still somebody out there in the world – someone other than _him_ , of course – who cared about Charles’s existence. 

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

He spent the next few nights trying to find out anything he could about a Xavier sibling, but all of his searches turned up fruitless. The lab-assistant’s guesses at a name weren’t much help either, Erik thought grumpily. Sighing, he turned his face towards the picture on his wall.

Charles stared back at him, calm and patient as always.

‘It’s taking time,’ Erik told him earnestly, ‘But we’ll get there in the end. I promise.’

Charles seemed to smile back at him gently.

Erik stared for a moment more before getting up and heading deliberately to the kitchen. 

If he was going to lose his mind then he may as well do it with the aid of some good, strong alcohol.

*****

A few weeks passed in this way. Erik rarely bothered showing up to work now. He did everything asked of him in the shortest amount of time possible and then immediately went back to searching for Charles and the Dollhouse. In a way, it was lucky that his reputation had sunk so deeply at the department – this way he was only saddled with boring, routine cases and paperwork, most of which he could finish at home if he so wished. The rest was the sort of mind-numbing drudge-work that allowed him to operate with only a fraction of his attention on the matter at hand; the rest of his mind was devoted to Charles. 

By now Erik knew all that a person who had never actually met Charles Xavier could know about the man in question. He had talked to all of his known friends, he had trawled through innumerable websites and bios about the man – he had even gone so far as to wade through the incomprehensible morass that was Charles’s legion of journal articles and scientific texts, if only to try to glean a whiff of what the man was like. Granted, he did not get very much from his perusal of those works, but it nevertheless firmly reassured him of the fact that Charles was fantastically intelligent.

So what, he couldn’t help but think to himself, was someone so very intelligent doing with the _Dollhouse_?

This was the question that preyed on Erik’s mind the most. Charles was connected to the Dollhouse, Erik was sure of it. His strange disappearance, so much like Magda’s; the mysterious envelope that had arrived at Erik’s desk just at the moment that he was thinking of giving up … it was too much of a coincidence. The only real puzzle was the capacity in which Charles Xavier was employed by the Dollhouse. Common sense dictated that his position was that of a scientist, as he had been prior to his disappearance, but something in Erik hesitated to settle on that solution.

He turned his gaze to the picture on his wall, contemplative. No, he still couldn’t see it. The Dollhouse was _bad_ – everyone knew that. The very notion of it made Erik’s skin crawl and _he_ was as hardened and stoic as any tough-as-nails-detective cliché out there. Looking at Charles … Erik shook his head. Charles wouldn’t want to be involved in something like that. He just wouldn’t. His expression was too soft, his eyes too kind. Even his previous colleagues had mentioned Charles’s kindness, his soft-heartedness. There was no way that someone as good as Charles would have anything to do with the Dollhouse – not like that.

But then … what else?

Erik shook his head. He didn’t particularly want to follow that line of thought.

_Thump!_

The sudden sound from outside his door snapped Erik out of his thoughts and back into the real world. He froze in his chair, still as a statue. Just as he was beginning to wonder if he had imagined the noise, it happened again. 

_Thump!_

Slowly peeling himself off his chair, Erik cast a quick glance up at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to eleven at night; far too late for visitors, if indeed he were to have anyone who cared to visit him, which he did not. Erik was also the only one with an apartment on this floor; the flat opposite his had been empty for as long as he could remember and frankly, he preferred it that way.

That, of course, only made the noise more suspicious. Carefully reaching for his gun, Erik quietly slunk over to the door, his heart beating fast. He had been waiting for something to happen from the moment that he had started searching for the Dollhouse. He supposed that the time had finally come.

Unlatching his door as quietly as possible, Erik opened it a crack and peered through. A dark figure was standing at the door of the empty apartment, trying to quietly break in, their back to Erik’s door.

Smiling grimly – _they really should have checked the door number before breaking in_ – Erik decided to use the intruder’s mistake against them. Quickly pushing through the door without so much of a rustle of clothing, Erik stepped forward until the nose of his gun was pressed up into the intruder’s back.

‘No sudden moves,’ he hissed out, eyes fixed on the back of the figure’s hoodie-covered head. ‘Put your hands up where I can see them and step away from the door.’

In his time as a police detective, Erik had witnessed many reactions from criminals upon being apprehended by a policeman with a gun. He was therefore surprised when, upon hissing out his instructions to the intruder before him, he was met not with a growl or a curse or an attempt to flee, but with a high, feminine shriek that almost made him drop his gun. 

‘Oh you have got to be _kidding_ me!’ came a girlish wail and Erik, startled, immediately reached out and grasped hold of the intruder’s shoulder, pulling them around so that they were face to face.

It was a girl. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and she was looking at Erik with something akin to amazed horror.

‘What are you doing here?’ Erik snapped out, gun still trained on the girl even though he was relatively sure that this incident probably didn’t have anything to do with the Dollhouse. ‘Who are you?’

The girl blinked, wide-eyed, and in a fraction of a second, her pale, scared face had transformed into an expression of angry indignation. 

‘Who am _I_?’ she growled, the ire in her voice surprising Erik. ‘Who the _fuck_ are _you_?’

Erik blinked.

‘I’m Erik Lehnsherr,’ he said dumbly, before he could stop himself.

The girl glared at him.

‘Well hoo-fucking-ray for you!’ she sneered. ‘Now fucking let me go, or tell me why the _fuck_ you are holding me at gun-point _outside my own goddamn apartment_!’

Erik stared.

‘Your apartment?’ he repeated, mentally cursing himself for sounding so hopelessly dim and gormless. Maybe being reduced to doing the grunt-work at the department had worse consequences for his intellect than he had realised.

‘ _Yes!_ ’

‘But the flat’s been empty for years,’ Erik said slowly, still not lowering the gun.

‘And now it’s _not_ ,’ the girl snapped, rolling her eyes. ‘I moved in this morning, okay?’

‘Oh,’ Erik blinked, unsure what to do next. Deciding that the best thing to do would be to put his gun away, he quickly thumbed on the safety before sliding the gun into the back of his trousers. ‘Right. Hello, then. I – I’m Erik Lehnsherr.’

The girl, who seemed to relax a great deal more now that the gun was out of sight, raised an eyebrow. 

‘Charmed,’ she drawled, folding her arms and leaning back against her door. ‘Now, care to tell me why you ambushed me outside my door like some sort of motherfucking serial killer?’

Erik frowned. 

‘Nobody usually comes by at this time,’ he muttered, ‘And there’s this case I’m working on. I thought you were trying to break into my apartment but got the wrong door.’

The girl smirked at that.

‘I would have to be pretty goddamn stupid for that,’ she said, arms still crossed, ‘considering that the door numbers are hanging right there in the middle of the door.’

‘Yes, well,’ Erik said, refusing to feel embarrassed. ‘You come across a lot of idiots in my line of work.’

The girl cocked her head at that and assessed Erik thoughtfully.

‘You said you were working on a case,’ she said slowly. ‘You a lawyer?’

‘Police officer,’ Erik corrected. ‘Police _detective_ , to be more accurate.’

To his surprise, the girl grinned at that.

‘Awesome,’ she said, her genuine enthusiasm allowing her youth to shine through. ‘And kind of a relief, too. Good to know that there’s a _reason_ why you’re a paranoid dick with a gun.’

Erik raised an eyebrow.

‘Well you kind of _are_ ,’ the girl said in a tone that was supposedly meant to placate him. ‘A dick, that is. I mean, what kind of asshole _does_ things like that? Seriously?’

Erik grunted.

‘Watch it,’ he said dryly, ‘I am, after all, a paranoid dick with a gun.’

The girl’s mouth split into a sudden grin.

‘You know,’ she said, eyes twinkling, ‘I think I might just grow to like you.’ She paused. ‘ _Despite_ the fact that you jammed a gun into my back instead of saying “hi” like any other normal neighbour.’

Erik wasn’t particularly used to being liked, but he was willing to go with it if it led the girl to dismiss his rather rude ambush of her. They _were_ going to be neighbours, after all.

‘Right,’ he grunted, feeling slightly awkward now. ‘I suppose I should say “Welcome to the building” or some shit like that?’

‘That would be traditional,’ the girl said, nodding gravely.

Erik shrugged.

‘Well, in that case,’ he said, ‘Welcome to the building. The manager’s a dick, the electricity sometimes shorts out, and getting the lift to work is a bitch. I hope you like it here.’

The girl gave him an amused smile.

‘Yes,’ she said meditatively. ‘We will _definitely_ get on.’

Erik raised an eyebrow.

‘If you say so,’ he said, noncommittal, before turning around to head back to his apartment. He paused at the threshold of his door, however, and turned back to face the girl, a frown on his face. ‘I don’t think I got your name?’ he said evenly.

The girl was still standing by her door, watching him closely.

‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘You didn’t.’

Erik waited.

‘Care to tell me?’ he asked dryly, when she didn’t speak.

The girl smiled then, a strange, curious smile that Erik couldn’t for the life of him decipher.

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling. ‘My name is Raven. Raven Darkholme.’

And with that, she turned on her heel, pushed the door of her flat open, and, giving him a wink, closed the door behind her.


	8. Conflicting Interests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has an appointment with the doctor.

‘Oh dear,’ Hank said, biting his lip as he took in the view in front of him. ‘That doesn’t look good. It’s not serious, is it?’

Logan opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted before he could start.

‘Not at all, dear boy,’ Charles said jovially, walking over and clapping Hank companionably on the back. ‘Nothing to worry about. It’s merely a scratch, that’s all. I’ve had far worse, never fear!’

Hank blinked.

‘… Right,’ he said, but not before casting a doubtful look at Logan, who just shrugged. 

‘Like the good Captain says,’ he drawled. ‘It’s only a scratch.’

Hank still didn’t look fully convinced.

‘Maybe so,’ he said dubiously, ‘but you should still make sure that he sees Doctor MacTaggart as soon as possible. A head wound is still a head wound, even if it is shallow.’

‘We’re seeing the Doc as soon as he’s done here,’ Logan informed him, hiding the roll of his eyes.

Hank nodded in approval before turning to Charles.

‘All right, Captain,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How about we get started on your treatment?’

Charles beamed at him.

‘Certainly, old boy,’ he said, sitting himself down in the Chair. ‘I say, do you mind if I smoke? I’m afraid that our friend Mr. Logan here forbade it whilst we were travelling.’

Hank lifted an eyebrow at that. The idea of Logan enforcing smoking regulations was more than a little odd. The man usually wasn’t to be seen without a large, odious-smelling cigar somewhere about his person and had more than once been heavily scolded by Miss Frost for ignoring smoking regulations on the House premises. The look on Hank’s face conveyed as much.

Logan scowled.

‘Yeah, well,’ he grumbled. ‘I know what I’m doing. _He_ doesn’t.’

Charles, who had been listening with polite interest, let out a chuckle at that.

‘Oh I assure you, old thing, I am perfectly aware of what I’m doing,’ he said cheerily. ‘My grandfather taught me to smoke when I was boy, you know.’

Logan sent Hank a look.

‘Was there a reason you made him talk like that?’ he demanded.

Hank shrugged, looking a bit sheepish.

‘I thought I would mix things up a bit,’ he said. ‘Make things interesting. I mean, just because he’s a bomb-disposal expert doesn’t mean that he can’t have – you know … a bit of character.’

‘He thinks he’s a goddamn RAF pilot in the fucking world war!’ Logan growled.

Hank shrugged again. By now he had all but given up trying to get Logan to stop swearing in front of his Active.

‘What can I say? That persona is very popular with some very wealthy old ladies, I’ll have you know.’

Logan rolled his eyes.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said. ‘Can we ditch him already? MacTaggart will be waiting.’

That got Hank moving and, less than two minutes later, Charles was getting up from his seat and waving goodbye to Hank as he and Logan exited the room.

Logan kept his eyes fixed on his Active as they began to descend the stairs to the in-house clinic.

‘You okay there, bub?’ he asked as they slowly made their way down, his arms poised to reach out in case Charles experienced any dizziness.

Charles paused on the step he was on and wrinkled his brow.

‘I hurt,’ he said in a mildly surprised tone.

‘Yup,’ Logan nodded, gently taking hold of Charles’s arm and guiding him down the stairs. ‘I thought you might.’

‘Why do I hurt?’ Charles wondered aloud, trying to touch curious fingers to his forehead.

‘You have an injury,’ Logan replied, patiently grasping hold of his hands before he could touch his head. ‘A bad man hurt you.’

‘Oh,’ a pucker appeared on Charles’s forehead. He appeared confused by this.

‘Nothing happened, though,’ Logan said quickly. ‘Apart from that hurt on your head there.’

Charles smiled at him then.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know.’

Logan frowned at that.

‘You do?’ he asked, sounding doubtful.

Charles turned to look at him before smiling and taking Logan’s hand in his.

‘You take care of me,’ he said with guileless blue eyes. ‘I trust you.’

Logan’s throat seemed to stick for a moment. He stared at Charles, before nodding.

‘Yeah,’ he said gruffly, squeezing Charles’s hand. ‘I take care of you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You should know that.’

Charles smiled at him.

‘I know it,’ he said, and then they were both standing outside the door to the clinic.

‘Time to see the Doc now, Charles,’ Logan said softly before knocking once on the door and then pushing it open. 

‘Ah, Logan,’ a capable-looking woman with auburn hair glanced up from the file that she had been consulting and nodded at him. ‘It’s good to see you. And hello, Charlie,’ the woman’s smile became softer, more genuine. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you as well.’

‘He’s Charles, now,’ Logan said quickly, spotting the slight wrinkle on Charles’s face. ‘He doesn’t like to be called Charlie anymore.’

‘Oh yes,’ Dr. MacTaggart nodded and turned a speculative look towards Charles. ‘It’d slipped my mind. Of course. Welcome, Charles. What can I do for you today?’

‘I hurt,’ Charles said, looking at the Doctor with wide, earnest eyes. ‘I am not at my best. You can help me be my best.’

‘Hmm,’ MacTaggart took a quick look at him, her eyes zeroing in on the head wound. ‘I see.’ She sighed, ushering Charles over to a seat as she moved over to the instruments on her table. ‘What did they have you do this time? Take down a terrorist cell single-handedly?’

Logan snorted.

‘You’re not far wrong,’ he said dryly. ‘He was a bomb-disposal expert with a few other things thrown in besides. Managed to defuse a bomb _and_ take out the bad guys. And all while speaking the goddamn King’s English and being all how-do-you-fucking-do about it, too.’

MacTaggart sighed as she gently dabbed Charles’s wound with an antiseptic.

‘Those are the worst,’ she said quietly as she attended to him. ‘The dangerous jobs. The Actives shouldn’t be made to risk their lives like that – it’s not right. I keep wondering whether the next one will actually come back in one piece.’ Her nostrils flared. ‘Not that _Miss Frost_ would care. She would just end the contract, sign a generous compensation package and send the poor thing home with one less limb to worry about.’

‘That sounds like her, alright,’ Logan said, dropping down into a chair. He reached up and scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know if I’d call those the _worst_ jobs, though.’

The doctor glanced up sharply at that.

‘Oh?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ Logan smiled grimly, his eyes cold. ‘Personally I would much rather face down a bunch of lunatics with guns than be stuck in a bed with some sick fuck and programmed to fulfil every single one of his fucked-up fantasies.’ He shrugged. ‘But maybe that’s just me.’

MacTaggart’s grimaced.

‘I see what you mean,’ she said, her head dipping. She sighed and brushed her hair off her forehead. ‘It’s hard, sometimes, to think about what it is that we do here. What we make _other people_ do.’ She turned to look at Charles then, and there was a sad, almost despairing look on her face. ‘It’s not right,’ she whispered, the tip of her finger brushing against Charles’s cheek.

Logan coughed and she immediately withdrew her hand. He watched her for a while as she bustled around, tending to Charles and making notes in a little notebook.

‘Can I ask you something, Doc?’ he asked after a few minutes.

The doctor glanced up from her book.

‘All right,’ she said cautiously. ‘I can’t promise I’ll answer it, though.’

‘Fair enough,’ Logan shrugged. ‘I was just thinking – you really don’t seem to like what the Dollhouse does – what _we_ do.’

MacTaggart barked out a laugh. 

‘You’re damn right I don’t,’ she said grimly. ‘And if anyone else here was anything but a cold-hearted bastard then they’d hate it too!’

‘Hmm,’ Logan made a non-committal noise. ‘Well, I was wondering – if you hate it so much then-’

‘Why do I work here?’ she finished for him. Logan nodded. ‘I don’t know. Why do any of us work here?’ She frowned then. ‘I guess I just feel this sense of obligation – like it’s my _duty_ to look after the Actives, you know? To make sure that they’re okay, that I am doing everything in my power to make sure that they get out of this alive and healthy and well.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It’s like – what do you feel when you look after Charles?’

Logan blinked at that.

‘Oh – what you said,’ he muttered, looking down at the floor. ‘Duty and responsibility and all that stuff.’

‘And affection,’ MacTaggart said quietly, and when Logan’s head jerked up he saw that she was wearing a knowing expression that quickly faded into weariness. ‘It’s okay – it happens, however much Miss Frost would like to put an end to it. It helps, in the end. To care for the one you are looking after. It makes you better at what you do. It’s actually harder to _not_ get attached.’ She turned to look at Charles again, her expression slightly wistful. ‘How can you not?’ she said softly. ‘When someone trusts you and needs you and relies on you as much as they do? It changes you. It creates a – a bond.’

Logan watched as she once again reached out to brush her fingers against Charles’s face. His eyes narrowed. He was missing something here. 

‘You and Charlie,’ he said slowly. ‘Do you-’

‘Oh,’ MacTaggart flushed a bright red, her hands immediately going back to her sides, where she clenched them. ‘I know this must seem very … But the thing is – You see, Charlie and I have something of a history.’ She looked up at Logan then, and there was an almost fierce look in her eye. ‘I don’t know if you know this, but before I was a full-time doctor here, I used to be a Handler.’ She paused and Logan knew what was coming. ‘More specifically, I used to be _Charlie’s_ Handler.’

Logan had to fight down the irrational sense of jealousy that overtook him in that moment and he grit his teeth in an effort to subdue it. The doctor watched him with a horribly sympathetic expression on her face.

‘I know,’ she said gently. ‘That’s exactly how I felt about _you_ when you first came here.’

Logan scowled at her but he couldn’t help but be curious.

‘So what happened?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you stop being his Handler?’

MacTaggart looked away at that.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she asked at last, sounding tired.

Logan was silent for a moment before he spoke.

‘You fell in love with him.’

MacTaggart shut her eyes.

‘Do you blame me?’ she asked in a small voice, still not looking up.

Logan’s eyes flickered over to where Charles was politely sitting and waiting to be addressed. He sighed.

‘Damn it, Doc,’ he said in a low growl. ‘What did you do?’

MacTaggart’s head jerked up at that.

‘Do?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘I didn’t do anything!’

‘Nothing?’ Logan repeated flatly. He jerked an arm out towards Charles. ‘You telling me that you’re head-over-heels for our boy there but you didn’t so much as steal a kiss from him?’

MacTaggart's face was beginning to turn red, and her eyes flashed angrily.

‘Would you?’ she hissed, and that shut Logan up. She tossed her head and took a deep, calming breath. ‘I did _nothing_ , Logan. I – I loved him. God knows I know it’s crazy, but I did. I loved him enough to do _nothing_.’ Her eyes lifted to meet his. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

Logan growled but said nothing.

‘So what happened?’ he asked after a moment. ‘How come you got stuck with the doctor gig?’

MacTaggart sighed and went back to attending to Charles.

‘I confessed,’ she said simply. ‘I went to Frost and I told her everything. Well – what little there was to tell.’ She stopped and let out a bleak little laugh. ‘Turns out, she already knew.’ She glanced over at Logan with a wry smile. ‘Never try to keep anything from that woman. She _knows_ things. Anyway,’ she continued, ‘she’d been keeping track of me and had been monitoring my behaviour so she knew that I was telling the truth. I offered to resign, and she accepted.’ She paused, reflective. ‘And then she went and offered me a job as the in-house Doctor. I can tell you, that _wasn’t_ what I was expecting.’

‘What were you expecting?’ Logan asked.

MacTaggart shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘To be sent home? To have my memory wiped? To be sent to the Attic … All those things, I guess. Does it matter? Anyway, she said that she knew that I had been a medical officer during my time in the army and that my skills would be particularly valued here and … well, the rest is history.’

‘And I came after that?’

The doctor shook her head.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Charlie – _Charles_ had another Handler before you but he was only temporary. Jason wasn’t a good fit for Charles – not the way you and I are.’

Logan didn’t care much for the ‘you and I’ part of the sentence but he grudgingly let it go.

‘So there’s a lot of thought that goes into it?’ he asked instead. ‘The … pairings for Actives and Handlers.’

MacTaggart nodded. 

‘Very much so,’ she said. ‘Miss Frost is wonderfully astute when it comes to such things.’ She flicked a glance over at Logan. ‘I must say, I wasn’t at all sure that it would work out between the two of you when you first started but now … Now I think I can see what it is that made her choose you.’

Logan grunted.

‘If you say so,’ he said blandly.

MacTaggart’s lips quirked upwards at that. She turned back to Charles, pulling off her rubber gloves with a loud _snap_.

‘All right then,’ she said cheerfully. ‘We’re all done here.’

Charles smiled back at her and then turned to look expectantly at Logan, who had got up from his seat and placed himself securely by Charles’s side.

‘Say thank you to the Doc, Charles,’ Logan nudged him.

Charles obediently turned back to face Dr. MacTaggart.

‘Thank you, Moira,’ he said, smiling at her.

MacTaggart started, her expression flickering at the sound of the name, and for a moment she seemed lost and unhappy.

Logan watched them, his eyes narrowed.

‘Moira?’ he asked, when the doctor didn’t move.

The doctor shook herself at that, and turned to look at Logan.

‘It’s my name,’ she said quietly. She glanced back at Charles. ‘Charlie was the only one to ever call me by my proper name.’

‘Charles,’ Charles said gently. ‘My name is Charles.’

Moira bit back an unhappy laugh.

‘Yes,’ she said, nodding, not meeting anyone’s eyes. ‘Charles. Of course.’

Logan watched her for a moment before turning to his Active.

‘Come on, Chuck,’ he said quietly. ‘I think we’d better split.’

Charles gave him a bright smile and slipped off his seat.

‘Goodbye, Moira,’ he said happily, waving at her as Logan escorted him out of the room. 

The doctor didn’t look up from the floor even as the door shut behind them.


	9. Open Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and his new neighbour get to know each other a bit better.

Raven was like no one that Erik had ever met before. 

She liked him, for one. Most of the people that Erik met seemed to avoid him as much as possible after their initial introduction, probably due to the lack of interest or sheer unrestrained hostility that Erik projected in their direction. It wasn’t that Erik was unlikeable, however; it was merely that he had no interest in _being_ liked.

Raven, on the other hand, seemed to see it as all part of Erik’s natural charm.

‘You’re like this cross old badger,’ she told him bluntly one afternoon as they were sitting in a small café that she had forcibly dragged him to. ‘You huff and growl and prefer to stay holed up in your grubby little burrow all day and only come out at night when there’s no one around.’

‘Sett,’ Erik corrected her absently. ‘Badgers live in setts, not burrows.’

Raven wrinkled her nose at that.

‘Christ, you sound like my brother,’ she said in a slightly disgusted tone.

She had immediately clammed up, however, when Erik had enquired after this brother. As Erik had only been asking out of a misguided sense of politeness, he hadn’t pursued the matter and had merely shrugged and gone back to glaring at his over-priced, overly-sweet cup of coffee. Raven wasn’t much better. She had gone on to spend the rest of the afternoon in a vicious temper, hissing and sneering at absolutely anything and anyone that happened to fall under her unfortunate gaze. Erik would have felt an odd sort of kinship for her if her change in behaviour hadn’t been so very abrupt and mystifying.

That was another thing about Raven that Erik had noticed – apart from her infuriating persistence and her inability to take no for an answer, that is; she was impossible to predict. Her moods swung about as frequently as a pendulum and the oddest things would set her off. Erik, who wasn’t especially tactful to begin with, found their interactions a veritable minefield that he despaired of ever finding a way to navigate. 

And it wasn’t just what he said. Sometimes Raven just seemed to be a bit … off, with her moods shifting and changing dramatically within seconds. If he was honest with himself, Erik found this more than a little off-putting; as a man whose moods fluctuated mainly between ‘grumpy’ and ‘pissed-off’, Raven’s mood swings were completely new territory. More often than not, she ended up in a tantrum after speaking to him and most of the time Erik had no clue whatsoever about what he had done to set her off. She always came back though, smiling and laughing at him, and it was almost as if her outburst of the afternoon before had been erased from her mind – as if it had never happened.

Erik often didn’t know how to react to this. He wasn’t looking for a friend. He didn’t particularly _want_ one. As far as he could see, having a friend would only make investigating the Dollhouse more difficult, taking up precious time that he would much rather spend hunting for Charles than chatting about … whatever friends chatted about. Raven was incredibly persistent, however, and somehow managed to worm her way into his life before he’d even realised that she had done so. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Eventually, though, he learned that it was best to just sit back and let things happen when it came to all things concerning Raven. And so it was that he ended up being dragged to things like ‘brunch’ and ‘coffee hour’ and other such irritations that Erik had very, very little interest in.

The one thing that he _did_ stand firm on, however, was his flat. By now, every usable inch of his flat – tables, desks, walls, floors – were covered in papers and notes and photographs … everything that he now had on the Dollhouse. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. The Dollhouse – _Charles_ – had taken over his life, and there was little that he could do about it. 

He was perfectly aware of how his obsession would look, however, and that was one of the reasons why he firmly refused to let Raven set foot into his flat. The other reason, of course, was that Raven would undoubtedly ruin _everything_ ; even though it may look like a mess, Erik knew where everything was and the last thing he needed was for someone to come in and trip over a bundle of papers that had been arranged _exactly so_ and ruin all chances of Erik ever finding Charles. Raven, he was sure, who had more than enough to curiosity to kill a hundred cats ten times over, would _definitely_ ruin things. He could tell. 

Unfortunately, Raven was quick to notice his reticence in letting her anywhere near his flat.

‘Oh come on!’ she whined. ‘You come into my apartment _all the time_! You’re always over for lunch and stuff!’

‘That’s because you _make_ me,’ Erik responded dryly, feigning boredom. ‘You come and hammer on my door and then physically drag me out when I open it.’

Raven just rolled her eyes and waved him off.

‘It’s for your own good,’ she said primly. ‘I know it’s a foreign concept to you, but people _do_ actually need human companionship.’

Erik scoffed at that. He’d been getting on just fine on his own, thanks. 

As if on cue, his treacherous mind chose that moment to conjure up the image of the picture on his wall. Slightly unnerved, he quickly shrugged it away and went back to concentrating on Raven.

‘But it’s _weird_ ,’ she was saying. ‘Why don’t you want me to see your apartment? I swear I won’t break anything.’ She suddenly frowned, her expression serious. ‘You don’t like – _keep_ anyone there, do you? Like – chained up or anything?’

Erik choked.

‘I don’t know whether to be amused or alarmed at the fact that you think me capable of that,’ he said at last, when he had regained the use of his tongue.

Raven raised an eyebrow.

‘You really have no right to feel either,’ she sniffed. ‘You _do_ remember how we met, right?’

‘As if you’d let me forget it,’ Erik grumbled, but there was a smile in his voice even if it wasn’t apparent on his face.

‘It’s like you know me so well,’ Raven sighed, the corners of her lips tugging upwards.

Not well enough, it seemed, for it was merely two days after this that Erik, returning home from an unavoidable day at work, walked into his flat to find Raven there, standing in the centre of the room with wide eyes and a gobsmacked look on her face.

‘Oh my _god_ ,’ she breathed, sounding almost awe-struck. 

‘Raven,’ Erik growled, dropping his briefcase down and stalking towards her. Upon reaching her he roughly grabbed hold of her arm and shook her. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Spying on you,’ Raven replied dazedly, her voice taking on a _duh_ tone.

‘How’d you get in?’ Erik demanded, shaking her again in his fury. ‘And don’t tell me that I left the door open because I _won’t_ believe you.’

Raven blinked then, and looked sheepishly down at her feet.

‘I … may have picked the lock,’ she said reluctantly.

Erik stared at her. For a moment it seemed that he actually might hit her.

‘Oh for – _why_ , Raven?’

Raven pouted and pulled herself out of his increasingly painful grasp.

‘I just wanted to _see_ ,’ she said earnestly before pausing. ‘And also rescue any prisoners that you may have had locked in here.’

Erik raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her, causing her to shrug in return.

‘Well, it was the only way I was ever going to get into your apartment,’ she said, all traces of remorse now gone from her voice. ‘What with you acting like some sort of creep who was hiding a shrine to the devil in his front room. I actually dated one of those – don’t ask.’

‘I wasn’t planning to,’ Erik said through gritted teeth. ‘Dammit, Raven, this is my _home_. I am a _police detective_ and you are _breaking and entering_. What the hell is wrong with you?’

Raven didn’t seem to be at all affected by Erik’s anger or accusations. 

‘What’s wrong with me?’ she snorted, casting a deliberate look around the room. ‘What’s wrong with _you_?’

Erik clenched his fists to keep from doing anything drastic.

‘Right,’ he said firmly. ‘Get out of my flat.’

Raven ignored him.

‘Raven, I swear to god, if you don’t leave now, I will-’

‘Who’s this?’

Erik froze mid-tirade as he saw Raven standing in front of his desk, her eyes fixed upon a very familiar photograph. Her hand was stretched out in front of her so that her fingers were gently brushing the smiling face in the picture. 

The blood drained from Erik’s face.

‘Get away from there!’ he snarled, moving forward to push her away.

Raven didn’t move.

‘Who is he?’ she asked, and the softness in her voice caused him to pause. ‘To you, I mean?’

Erik opened his mouth but nothing came out. He didn’t know how to answer that question. Who _was_ Charles Xavier to him?

‘He’s – he’s Charles Xavier,’ he said at last, not knowing what to say. He was surprised to find that he had somehow calmed down, his rage having mellowed at the thought of Charles. ‘I’m looking for him.’

Raven’s eyes were still on the picture.

‘Did he do something wrong?’ she asked lightly, her finger tracing the curve of Charles’s jaw. She had an odd expression on her face.

Erik shook his head.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Not at all. He’s – he’s missing. I’m searching for him. That’s all.’

Raven turned away from the photograph then, and cast a slightly amused look at the mess around her.

‘Looks like you’ve been looking pretty hard,’ she murmured, and she was unable to hide the look of curiosity in her eyes. Her fingers fluttered around one of the folders on his desk, brushing against the papers inside.

Moving forward with a growl, Erik snatched the papers out from under her hand and quickly placed them elsewhere.

‘That’s confidential,’ he snapped, angry at Raven’s blatant disregard for his privacy. ‘And absolutely none of your business. Now get out!’

Raven’s fists clenched at his words and she appeared almost angry for a second. She calmed down after a moment, however, and instead turned to face Erik with a determined expression, her arms crossed over her chest.

‘Confidential, is it?’ she asked coolly. ‘Is it really? Only that surprises me, considering that all of it seems to be _here_ and not with you at work.’

Erik’s eyes narrowed.

‘I brought it home with me,’ he said, scowling. ‘And like I said, it’s none of your business.’

‘Hmm,’ Raven watched him thoughtfully. ‘Are you sure that’s what you did?’

‘What?’ Erik snapped. ‘Of course I’m sure!’

‘Only,’ Raven blinked innocently at him. ‘I’m not so sure that that’s quite right. It doesn’t explain, for example, the fact that you spend – what? – about two days of the week at the police department? Or that when you do, you always come back and complain about the fact that they’ve got you doing the grunt-work and that the most exciting case you’ve come by in weeks was a little old lady who turned out to be a porcelain-figure nabbing klepto.’

Erik didn’t say a word but just kept glaring at her.

‘And given all the files and notes that have practically taken over your apartment,’ Raven continued, casting an unimpressed eye over the room, ‘I’m going to go with the idea that this investigation of yours is more of a _private_ one than an official one.’

Erik brought his hands together in a slow clap.

‘Outstanding. Maybe _you_ should be the detective here, not me,’ he sneered.

‘Oh, I’m sure the field is big enough for the two of us,’ Raven said airily, still not seeming at all intimidated by the obvious anger in Erik’s eyes.

‘I wouldn’t be sure about that,’ Erik muttered darkly.

Raven merely smirked before spinning around, picking up the thick sheaf of papers that was on the nearest armchair and, without paying the slightest bit of attention to Erik’s curses and snarls of irritation, promptly plopped down and made herself comfortable.

‘So,’ she said when Erik finally paused in his colourful swearing in order to take a breath. ‘Are you going to tell me about it or not?’

That made Erik pause.

‘… Tell you about it?’ he repeated.

‘Yes,’ Raven said patiently, waving a hand around. ‘The case you’re working on. What you’re doing. Who you’re after.’ A pause. ‘Who the guy in the picture is.’

Silence fell.

Erik began to shake his head. ‘It’s not any of your concern,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s really not all that important.’

‘I disagree,’ Raven said smoothly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms over her chest. ‘It obviously means something to you. And who knows – maybe I can help.’

Erik thought that very unlikely, but he couldn’t help the stir of longing that flared in his gut at the thought of sharing his findings with another person. He scowled, staring down at his feet in contemplation.

‘Does it by any chance have anything to do with the Dollhouse?’ Raven asked innocently.

Erik’s head jerked up.

‘How did you know that?’ he demanded.

Raven rolled her eyes.

‘Because the wall opposite me has a huge spider-diagram with the word “Dollhouse” right in the centre of it?’ she answered, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Erik stared at her for a moment before sighing.

He may not know Raven all _that_ well, but he knew enough to understand that this was not something that she would let go of. She was almost as bad he was, in that way. He could even now see how this would play out: she would keep on hounding him and bothering him and repeatedly breaking into his apartment until he finally, _finally_ caved and told her everything.

Coming to the conclusion that he may as well bypass that whole stage and make things easier on himself, Erik sighed before turning to the seat opposite her, clearing away the mess on top of it, and then sitting down.

‘Fine,’ he said once he was comfortably seated, his face giving nothing away. ‘What is it that you want to know?’

Raven watched him carefully for a moment.

‘Everything,’ she said at last, her eyes boring into his and without the slightest trace of levity about her. ‘I want to know everything.’

Erik’s eyes flickered over to the picture of Charles Xavier on his wall. The face in the photograph smiled back at him encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, Erik opened his mouth.

‘Right then,’ he said, ‘What do you know about the Dollhouse?’


	10. Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The line between Active and Handler is more blurry than Logan would like to believe.

‘Mmm, that was good.’

Logan glanced up from where his eyes had been boring a hole into the floor of the van and turned his gaze towards his Active.

‘Enjoy yourself, Chuck?’ he asked dryly.

Charlie – because whoever this was it sure wasn’t _Charles_ , and Logan would be damned before he called him by whatever goddamn twinky name that the afternoon’s Client had picked for him – merely smiled knowingly at him. 

‘Absolutely,’ he purred, throwing Logan a sultry look from under his eyelashes. He raised his arms and stretched, tipping his head back in a way that deliberately called attention to his long, pale neck and the stretch of skin that showed from between his mostly-unbuttoned silk shirt.

Logan’s jaw tightened and he deliberately turned his eyes back to the floor.

Charlie pouted.

‘Oh don’t be like that,’ he cooed, pulling himself off the seat of the van and slinking over towards Logan until their sides were pressed together. ‘A boy’s got to have a good time now and then, right?’

Logan’s nostrils flared slightly but he said nothing.

Charlie watched him for a moment before letting out a sigh.

‘Pity,’ he said, raising a shoulder in a delicate shrug. ‘We could have had some fun, you and I.’ His eyes traced over Logan’s arms and chest. ‘I could find a lot of uses for a strong, manly man like you.’

Logan’s eyes narrowed and he scowled, a flicker of revulsion momentarily crossing his face before he could stop it.

Unfortunately, Charlie saw. His face fell.

‘What?’ and – horror of horrors – he actually sounded upset. ‘What is it?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ He nervously began twisting his fingers, his coy expression replaced with one of confusion and dismay.

Logan sighed and rubbed at his temples. Fucking fantastic. 

This was one of his main troubles as a Handler: he kept forgetting that his opinion _mattered_ to his Active. He kept forgetting that even his most careless and thoughtless behaviours affected and influenced Charles, who unconsciously put all his faith and trust in a man whose name he often forgot on a day-to-day basis. 

Logan grimaced at the thought and pulled his hand away from his face.

‘Nah, you’re okay,’ he said gruffly, forcing himself to turn and smile at his Active, who returned the gesture hesitantly. ‘Just got a headache is all.’

Charlie, reassured by Logan’s words, immediately shed his uncertainty and reverted back to his previous flirtatious behaviour.

‘Well, it just so happens that I know a trick or two that’ll help you forget about this nasty little headache of yours,’ he murmured, his eyes heated and his smile sinfully wicked. He reached out with a pale arm, his fingers snaking out towards the waist of Logan’s trousers.

Logan’s hand darted out and caught the wandering fingers just before they brushed against him.

‘Nu-uh, bub,’ he said grimly, shaking his head. ‘That ain’t gonna happen.’

Charlie retracted his arm and hunched in on himself, pouting.

‘Why not?’ he whined, and Logan made sure to avoid the wide blue puppy-dog eyes that were being aimed in his direction. ‘Don’t you think I’m attractive?’ His lower lip stuck out petulantly. ‘Don’t you like me?’

And well, fuck, because how was Logan supposed to answer that?

‘Yeah, I like you,’ he settled on, speaking before Charlie’s lip could protrude out any further. ‘I like you plenty. You’re my favourite goddamn person on the whole fucking planet. Satisfied?’

Charles gave him a cunning smile and sidled closer.

‘You didn’t answer my previous question,’ he murmured, tracing the hairy line of Logan’s jaw with one finger.

‘What question?’ Logan gritted out, his voice coming out in a growl as his hands clenched into fists. He threw a quick glance at the front of the van and couldn’t help but be secretly relieved that the driver’s seat was separated from the rest of the van by a thick opaque-glass divider. He didn’t know what he and Charlie looked like at the moment but he was pretty damn sure that the image would be … compromising.

‘My first one,’ Charlie whispered, still pressed indecently close, his lips barely a hair’s-breadth away from Logan’s ear. ‘Before I asked you if you liked me.’

‘Yeah?’ Logan was finding it very hard to concentrate, and Charlie was only the half of it; it was very difficult to focus on something when the majority of one’s brain wanted to bludgeon the rest of it for being a complete fucking idiot.

‘Yeah,’ Charlie breathed, and by now he was fully pressed up against Logan’s side, the steady motion of the van creating a gentle rocking sensation between them. Logan’s breath hitched involuntarily as a bump in the road jerked them closer together, causing Charlie’s mouth to brush enticingly against his skin. Charlie sighed. ‘I asked you if you thought I was attractive.’

Logan didn’t answer.

Charlie rolled his eyes and leaned closer, until he was suddenly biting gently on the lobe of Logan’s ear, tugging it playfully.

‘Well?’ he murmured, pulling away until his lips were just brushing against the ear. ‘Do you?’

Logan’s eyes narrowed and, moving his arm out from under Charlie’s body, he grabbed his Active by the shoulder and shoved him away.

‘Would you lay off?’ he snapped, glaring over at where Charlie was staring at him with wide blue eyes. ‘Yeah, I can see that you ain’t bad lookin’. Congratulations, you’re the fucking bee’s knees. You happy now?’ He glowered down at his Active, resisting the urge to reach over and shake him.

Charlie was looking up at him with wide eyes, and for a moment it seemed as if he would open his mouth and say something. But then that slow, teasing smile returned and, for some reason that he was unable to explain, Logan found himself letting out a sigh of relief.

‘Yeah,’ Charlie smirked, pulling himself up and edging closer along the seat, ‘I _am_ happy.’ He paused, before throwing Logan another sultry look from under his eyelashes. ‘And I could make _you_ happy too, if you wanted.’

Logan scowled and had just opened his mouth to snap at Charlie to sit down and shut up when the van came to a stop.

‘We’re here!’ came the call from the front seat.

Logan slumped in his chair. 

_Thank fuck for that._

‘Come on, Charlie,’ he said instead. ‘It’s time for your treatment.’

Charlie’s seductive expression immediately disappeared, replaced instead by one of honest, innocent enthusiasm.

‘My treatment?’ he asked hopefully, jumping up from his seat. ‘That’s wonderful! I’ve really been looking forward to it. Do you know, I can’t remember the last time I had one?’

_Yesterday,_ Logan thought dourly. _You had one yesterday._

‘Come on then, lover’ Charlie said, jumping out of the van and turning back to look at Logan with a flirtatious smile. ‘Don’t leave me hanging here!’

Logan rolled his eyes.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he muttered, before getting out of the van.

*****

Logan watched, his face inscrutable, as Charlie – no, he was _Charles_ now, he was back from his Assignment, after all – moved his brush happily over the piece of paper in front of him, his painting a childish mixture of bright, bold colours and thick, firm lines. He looked completely at peace, like a sweet-faced cherub who knew absolutely nothing of the horrors of the world.

Logan grunted. Charles actually _was_ a sweet-faced cherub who knew absolutely nothing of the horrors of the world. They _all_ were, the inhabitants of the Dollhouse. It was what made people like Logan so necessary; _someone_ needed to look after the Dolls, after all. And Logan needed to look after Charles.

He grimaced as he remembered what had happened inside the van. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, of course. It seemed the seductive, flirty, sex-kitten type was a popular choice among Clients.

Logan hated it. Sure, Charles was always appealing, whether in a three-piece suit or wearing full-on leather bondage gear, but the whole arrangement always made Logan feel incredibly uncomfortable. His body sometimes reacted, yes – he wasn’t a goddamn _monk_ , Jesus – but his mind was firmly set; Charlie wasn’t Charles. Charlie wasn’t Charles, and Logan would rather tear off his own arm than cross the line between them and accept something that wasn’t being knowingly offered. So that was that. End of.

It didn’t stop it from being a _really_ fucking shitty position to be in, though.

Logan cast another glance over at Charles, who was still happily mucking around with his paintbrushes, and scowled. What the fuck was _wrong_ with him? He had more sense than this, surely. It was like crushing on a goddamn _child_ , for Chrissakes.

Charles chose that moment to look up at him and smile. Logan stared back, his expression unreadable. The moment that Charles went back to his painting, he closed his eyes and turned his head away.

Logan had never been a man to place any real importance on _feelings_ and _emotions_ but he could freely admit that what he really needed right now was to go somewhere quiet and _sort his head the fuck out_.

He felt strongly for Charles. He couldn’t deny it. Charles was more than just a Doll to him; more than just a charge. Logan thought about him constantly, he worried about him, he monitored him almost obsessively … He had to. It was his job.

He growled under his breath and rubbed at his chest. There was a certain heaviness that sometimes grabbed hold of him there when he looked at Charles, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand what it meant. In a way, it was almost easier to deal with Charlie – at least when they were out on Assignment Logan _knew_ that the person in front of him wasn’t real. The line between them there was clear-cut and well-defined … even when Charlie _tried_ things like he had just the day before. All the flirting and come-hither looks in the world couldn’t overcome the feeling of _wrongness_ that overcame Logan when his thoughts so much as brushed against the idea.

No, it was when he was with _Charles_ that things became difficult. He’d begun to realise that he’d been letting his guard down whilst at the House, and not just physically. Charles had managed to work his way into Logan’s affections faster than anyone ever had before; a remarkable feat, Logan thought dryly, for someone who essentially had no personality.

He sighed and rubbed at his head. It would do no good to think on these things. Trying to figure out your feelings was always a tricky business and, Logan had found, was more often than not more trouble than it was worth. Look at Doctor MacTaggart, for example. She’d allowed herself to develop feelings for her Active – for _Charles_ – and look where that had got her. Logan simply didn’t have that luxury. He, for one, didn’t have a medical career to fall back on when everything went to shit.

No, he couldn’t be a friend to Charles. All he could do was his job; all he could be was a Handler. Not a friend, not a buddy, not a brother, and certainly not anything more than that. Not that he wanted to, of course. But yes, the easiest thing for Logan to do was to back off and ease up on his concern for Charles. The more you worried about a person, the more attached you got. All Logan had to do was keep his mind on the job when he had to and then forget all about his charge when he didn’t. Easy as pie.

Having cleared that up, Logan nodded to himself and straightened his spine. There was no real need for him to be here, watching Charles. Now that they were back within the Dollhouse there were numerous minders and monitors to look out for the Actives and keep them from harm. Only Logan’s ingrained sense of over-protectiveness (not to mention his lack of anything resembling a pastime or a hobby) had kept him within the House after-hours, watching over Charles even after his Assignments were over.

He was just about to turn around and leave when he noticed that Charles had set down his paints and paintbrushes and had detached himself from the group that he had been sitting with. Instead, he was making his way over to Logan, his hands clutched around a large piece of paper, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.

‘Hello, Logan,’ he coolly greeted his Handler, coming to a stop in front of him.

‘Hiya, Chuck,’ Logan nodded at him, shifting on his feet. He nodded at the paper in Charles’s hands. ‘What’ve you got there?’

Charles beamed and held out the paper, inviting Logan to take a look at it. Logan hesitated for almost a fraction of a second before leaning forward to take the paper from him. His face set, he turned the paper over.

It was Charles’s painting.

At first Logan didn’t understand what it was that he was seeing, as he was busy taking in the bright colours and the childish brushstrokes. Then his eyes focused and he felt something tighten in his chest as he realised what it was that he was looking at.

The painting was simple and childlike – certainly nothing to write home about. It wasn’t Charles’s skill with a brush that had caught Logan so off-guard. It was the picture itself.

There, in the centre of the painting, were two figures holding hands. One, with a mop of messy brown hair and bright blue eyes, was obviously Charles. The other –

The other had thick bushy eyebrows and wild hair and whiskers on his cheeks. He was wearing what could easily be a plaid shirt and a set of heavy black boots, and in his hand there was an odd oblong shape that was in all probability a cigar. Logan took this all in and swallowed. What he was holding was a portrait of himself and Charles.

‘Thanks, buddy,’ Logan forced himself to say, the words being pushed out through his surprisingly dry throat. ‘That’s – that’s great.’

Charles beamed at him, looking as thrilled as any child whose work had been praised by proud parents who had then stuck the picture on the refrigerator.

Logan coughed and rubbed at his face before trying to hand the painting back to Charles.

Charles, however, shook his head.

‘For you,’ he said softly, taking hold of Logan’s wrist and pushing it back towards him. 

Logan swallowed and nodded. He watched as Charles beamed at him once more before turning and gliding dreamily over to where he had been sitting earlier with Havok and Darwin.

Tearing his eyes away, Logan glanced back down at the picture. It stared up at him, affection and innocence shining out of it with every brushstroke and paint drop. 

Logan sighed and lowered the painting.

Shutting his eyes briefly, he turned and made his way over to the nearest comfortable seat in the room.

He was going to be there for a while, after all.


	11. Clue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik receives a little help in his investigation.

Erik wasn’t quite sure how he felt about letting Raven in on his investigation.

Yes, it was nice to have someone to talk to about it; someone who didn’t think that he was crazy and moved to call the men in white coats the second he was out of earshot. Yes, it was nice to have someone to look at the case from a fresh perspective, to have a second pair of eyes go over anything that he may have missed. 

It was, however, also a huge pain in his ass. 

Letting Raven in on his investigation meant that he now couldn’t get rid of her; she was over at his flat at all times of the day, so much so that she practically seemed to live there. Erik wouldn’t mind so much if she just kept out of his way. But no, she seemed determined to insinuate herself into every single part of his life in whichever way possible, something that constantly drove Erik to distraction. For a man used to being on his own and doing things his own way, having someone like Raven about was a huge upheaval. It wasn’t _all_ bad, of course, but he couldn’t say that he was especially thrilled to have someone moan at him to do things like take out the bins or buy more milk. Nor was he very happy at Raven’s interference with his choice in diet; apparently eating takeaway pizza five days in a row was completely unacceptable to _some_ people.

In spite of this, he was very much surprised to find that he didn’t really mind Raven being there. In fact, the only really bad thing that he could say – and he would never say this out loud, of course – was that sometimes, some very _occasional_ times, he rather missed it when it was just him investigating the Dollhouse. When it was just him against the rest of the world, waiting to charge in on a white horse to save the Dolls.

To save Charles.

He tried not to think like this very often. He knew that the thoughts were ridiculous and overly-sentimental and if there was one thing that Erik prided himself on, it was his rationality. Sentiment could wait. The job, as in all things, came first.

The difference was that he now had a partner.

Raven had accepted the details of the case with relative equanimity. She had heard of the Dollhouse, of course, as had most people, though she admitted that her knowledge mainly stemmed from her days as a young girl in the schoolyard. She was intrigued to find out that the Dollhouse was real and seemed very impressed with the work that Erik had put in.

‘You’re very dedicated,’ she said approvingly, before cocking her head to the side, and smirking. ‘Well, I _say_ dedicated. Of course I mean _obsessed_.’

Erik gave her a look.

‘Hey – it could be worse,’ Raven assured him. ‘You could be obsessed with _murdering_ people, or something. On the whole, this is _definitely_ healthier.’

Erik wasn’t the only one with an obsession with the Dollhouse, however. Raven soon became almost as engrossed in the case as he was, and the two of them were often to be found in Erik’s apartment, poring over files and photographs. Erik didn’t know what was motivating Raven but he sure as hell was thankful for it; he hadn’t realised how much he had missed having a partner on his cases until that moment. Working alone was not, perhaps, as great an idea as he’d used to think.

The two of them came to spend a great deal of time together. Some nights Raven didn’t even seem to go home, despite living just across the hallway. They were together so often that Erik began to wonder if he had become a bad influence on his young neighbour. Certainly, she seemed to have picked up a lot of bad habits from him. Drinking too much coffee, for one; spending sleepless nights poring over old case files for another. Erik even swore that Raven had taken to staring at the picture of Charles at odd moments, just like he did, as if she too were taking heart from the photograph and using it to remind her of the reason they were doing what they were. 

Their investigation still wasn’t bearing much fruit, however. Trails went cold, leads didn’t pan out … it was more than a little frustrating. Erik had actually lost his temper one evening and, full of frustrated impotence, had thrown the papers down at his feet, grabbed his coat from the peg by the door, and had stormed out of his own apartment, leaving Raven staring wide-eyed at him in his wake.

It was shortly after this tantrum that the second envelope had shown up.

Erik had not forgotten the mysterious benefactor who had put him so very firmly on the trail of the Dollhouse. It was this generous soul, after all, that had given him Charles. Erik had waited, but for the longest time there seemed to be no more messages forthcoming. He had all but given up hope when the second envelope arrived, lending him a new lease of life.

He had been out for his morning jog and was just returning home, tired and sweaty, when he’d seen the brown corner of the envelope sticking out from the bottom of his door. Erik froze upon seeing it and it had taken him a minute to even approach his door. Once there, he stood silently for a moment, contemplating the envelope and wondering what it could mean. He had then nodded to himself, pulled out his keys, opened his door, and went inside. He returned a minute later and this time he had a pair of plastic gloves on his hands, which he used to pick the envelope up off the floor with. 

He then carefully opened the envelope and gently pulled out its contents. Inside was, like before, a single piece of paper. This time, however, it wasn’t a photograph. This time it was just a plain piece of paper with a list of six names written on it.

Erik studied the list for a few minutes before carefully putting the paper back in the envelope and then setting both down on a clear, clean portion of his desk. Having done that, he quickly stripped the gloves off his hands and walked out through the door of his flat and across the hallway, coming to a halt in front of the door opposite to his. Raising his fist, he knocked on the door in three sharp raps, the noise echoing loudly down the silent corridor.

It was a moment before the door opened and when it did, it revealed a very rumpled, very grumpy-looking Raven. 

‘What the fuck do you want?’ she grunted, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

‘My door,’ Erik said sharply. ‘Did you see anyone approach it?’

Raven blinked at him.

‘Huh?’ she asked cleverly.

Erik gritted his teeth.

‘Did you see anyone in the hallway?’ he demanded, unable to conceal his impatience. ‘Did you _hear_ anything? Anything at all?’

Raven blinked at him, still looking incredibly sleepy. 

‘No,’ she answered, sounding vaguely surprised. ‘Dude, it’s _eight o’clock_.’

‘So?’ Erik glared at her, his jaw clenched.

‘So _I was asleep_!’ Raven snapped, her drowsiness giving way to irritation. ‘Believe it or not, I _don’t_ feel the need to patrol the corridors at all hours just in case someone suddenly decides that they actually give a damn about you!’

Erik’s jaw tightened at that and he said nothing.

Raven seemed to come back to herself after a moment and she sighed, rubbing her forehead.

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean … What’s the big deal, anyway? Why do you look so … weird?’

‘I got a letter,’ Erik said shortly.

‘Woo-fucking-hoo. Who’s it from?’

‘No idea.’

Raven blinked.

‘Okay,’ she said slowly. ‘What’s it about?’

Erik looked her straight in the eye.

‘The case,’ he said. ‘It’s about the case.’

Raven frowned.

‘The case?’ she repeated. ‘But I thought that nobody – Holy shit!’ Her eyes were round. ‘Someone else knows what we’re doing?’

‘It seems that way, doesn’t it?’ Erik said grimly. ‘I think it’s the same person as before. The one that sent me the picture of Charles.’

‘Wow,’ Raven’s eyes were wide. ‘That’s nice of them.’

Erik snorted. 

‘I’ll reserve judgement on that until I find out what sort of game they’re playing,’ he said darkly. ‘Last time I looked, no one did good things for no reason.’

‘That’s kinda bleak,’ Raven said, screwing up her nose. ‘I mean, how do you know that our informant isn’t just a decent human being who wants to save the Dolls?’

Erik gave her a humourless smile.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a “decent human being” in all my life,’ he murmured.

‘Wow,’ Raven snorted, rolling her eyes. ‘Sure sounds like you have a lot of fun up there in Happys-ville. No really,’ she said as Erik scowled at her, ‘All the good-will and optimism shining out of your ass is _blinding_ me.’

‘Ha-fucking-ha,’ Erik muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

‘Attaboy,’ Raven patted his arm. ‘Now tell me: what’s in this mysterious brown envelope of yours?’

Erik paused and regarded her with a frown.

‘How did you know the envelope was brown?’ he asked suspiciously.

Raven shrugged. ‘Aren’t all envelopes brown?’ she asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

Erik let out a sigh of disappointment. 

‘Never mind,’ he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s a list,’ he said at last. ‘It’s a list of names. All written in block capitals. That’s it.’

Raven positively beamed.

‘Awesome!’ she said.

Erik stared at her.

‘What?’ Raven protested. ‘It is! It’s a motherfucking _clue_! Like in all those old-fashioned detective stories and stuff! It’s fucking _exciting_! I bet you wish that we had Miss Marple around here right now, huh?’

‘No, actually,’ Erik drawled, allowing a small smirk to play on his lips. ‘I was more of a Sherlock Holmes man, myself.’

Raven rolled her eyes. 

‘ _Naturally,_ ’ she said, sighing. ‘I should have known that you would have it in for sweet little old ladies.’

Erik opened his mouth to protest against this slur on his feelings for sweet little old ladies but then thought better about it and shut his mouth.

‘ _Anyway,_ ’ he said pointedly, ‘It won’t take long to find out more about this list of names, even without your beloved Miss Marple on the case. I’ll run the names through the system; see what comes up.’

‘Good,’ Raven nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining with unrestrained eagerness. ‘It’ll be good to have more to go on. I’m tired of running into dead ends.’

**…**

The dead ends, however, just kept on coming.

‘This is ridiculous!’ Erik snarled as the fourth name came up with the same huge red ‘DECEASED’ sign across the computer screen. ‘These men are all _dead_! What was the point of sending me this list if all the names on them are of _dead_ men?’

‘You haven’t tried them all yet,’ Raven said diplomatically. ‘The others may still be alive, you never know.’

Erik had merely snarled at her and then gone back to searching for the names in the police database.

He hit the jackpot on the fifth name.

‘Him!’ he said, leaning forward suddenly, raising his hand so that his index finger brushed the picture on the computer screen. ‘This Keith Brown. I know him.’

Raven was at his side in seconds, her previous blasé attitude replaced with something more serious and focussed.

‘How?’ she demanded. ‘How do you know him?’

‘You remember how I was telling you about Magda? About the night I found her?’ Erik asked, waiting for Raven’s nod before continuing. ‘Well, that’s the man she was with that night. Only …’ he paused.

‘What is it?’ Raven urged.

‘That wasn’t the name he had when I saw him,’ Erik said slowly, frowning.

‘Then one of the names must be fake,’ Raven said confidently. ‘What was the name he gave you?’

‘Carl Goldman,’ Erik said immediately, the name still fresh in his mind. ‘I checked every single piece of identification in his wallet _and_ I ran his name on the system. Granted, he only had a few parking violations, but it checked out.’ He hummed contemplatively. ‘So that should mean that the name on the list is a fake … But then why was there also a file on Keith Brown?’

‘Never mind that now,’ Raven said impatiently. ‘You’d better run Carl again. We’ll need an address.’

Erik dutifully ran the name through the police database. The details popped up almost immediately.

‘Hmm,’ Raven said. ‘Looks like he lives on the rich side of town.’ She turned to Erik. ‘You’d better make a note of the address. Unless you have a photographic memory or something.’

Erik snorted and hit the _Print_ button instead.

‘Awesome,’ Raven beamed when he returned with the printout. ‘So we’ll go and see him tomorrow, right?’ 

Erik stared at her.

‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘why wait until tomorrow? And secondly: _we_?’

Raven rolled her eyes.

‘Of _course_ “we”,’ she said exasperatedly. ‘I’m just as involved in this as you are. And also, _yes_ tomorrow. We still have things to do here.’

Erik raised an eyebrow.

‘Like what?’ he demanded.

‘Like looking up that last name,’ Raven said encouragingly. ‘Not to mention searching for any fingerprints on the letter.’ She let out a loud huff at the look that Erik gave her. ‘What, did you think that I didn’t notice that you didn’t let me touch the letter? Or that you were wearing gloves while handling it? Give me _some_ credit, Erik, I’m not a _total_ moron.’

Erik couldn’t help but smile at that.

‘Well done, Miss Marple,’ he murmured.

‘Suck on that, Sherlock,’ Raven smirked.

They then went on to search for the last name on the list. Unfortunately, nothing came up.

‘Must be another alias,’ Erik said, shrugging at Raven’s irritated expression. ‘There’s not much that we can do with that, I’m afraid. If the man doesn’t have a criminal record then there won’t be a list of his known aliases.’ He sighed. ‘It’s only by chance that I recognised Carl.’ He ran his eyes over the printout on his desk. ‘It’s definitely him – I wouldn’t forget his face. But why would he have changed his name?’

‘Perhaps you scared him,’ Raven said lightly. ‘You do that, you know.’

But Erik shook his head.

‘No, he changed his name _before_ I met him,’ he said, frowning. ‘But he was with Magda when I met him, which means – what? If I’m right, and this is a list of Dollhouse clients, then it means that he was using the Dollhouse even after he changed his name … that he didn’t fully cut his ties.’

Raven was looking impatient.

‘I don’t see what the big deal is here,’ she said impatiently. ‘The guy was probably some sort of criminal and that’s why he changed his name. There’s really no need to overcomplicate things, you know.’

Erik grunted and rubbed a hand over his forehead.

‘You’re right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘And fine – we will go and see Keith or Carl or whatever his name is tomorrow. We’ve still got a few more things to go over anyway.’

‘You mean _you_ have things to go over,’ Raven corrected him, getting up from her chair and tossing her blonde mane over her shoulder. ‘ _I_ , on the other hand, have a _date_.’

Erik turned to stare at her before rolling his eyes.

‘No wonder you wanted me to wait until tomorrow,’ he grumbled. ‘You’d better hope I don’t change my mind.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Raven said sharply, her eyes narrowed.

Erik shook his head.

‘Fine,’ he said flatly. ‘Go, get out of here. Some of us have important work to do.’

Raven let out a huff and, turning on her heel, smoothly sashayed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Erik sighed and rubbed at his head.

He missed working alone.

*****

The rest of the day was not very successful. The investigation into the last name on the list did not get Erik very far and he soon gave up his search in a fit of exasperation that even an imaginary conversation with the picture of Charles Xavier couldn’t fully dissipate.

That wasn’t the only disappointment of the day. As expected, there were no fingerprints to run on the envelope; whoever his informant was, they weren’t foolish enough to commit such an amateurish mistake. Erik smiled wryly: perhaps Miss Marple’s assistance wouldn’t be so very amiss after all.

Erik soon gave up any hope of making any further progress that night. Besides, if Raven was going to have the night off then why couldn’t he? He had Carl Goldman’s name, after all, and he’d already done the necessary preliminary check on the other names. That was enough for now; he could do a detailed investigation on them tomorrow. There was no rush – they wouldn’t be going anywhere: they were dead.

And so, with that in mind, Erik pushed all his notes aside, turned on the television, grabbed a six-pack out of the fridge, and settled himself down on the sofa, in the mood to watch a long, action-heavy film full of high-speed car chases and mindless violence.

It was only later, when Erik was half-way through his six-pack, that something made him stop and frown. He set down his beer and, hitting the mute button on his remote, went back over to the computer to look at the files of the dead men, wondering why the thought hadn’t struck him sooner and cursing Raven for her insistence that they hurry through the names as quickly as possible so she could go off on her date. And so it was that as he was looking through the files of the names marked ‘Deceased’ that he spotted something that made his blood run cold.

The men had all died at different times over the last three years. There was no real tie between the men, no real relationship or kinship that would link the four of them together. Nothing except for the fact that they had all appeared on the same list that had mysteriously materialized under Erik’s door. 

Nothing, that is, except for one more tiny little thing.

All four of the men had been viciously stabbed to death.


	12. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma Frost has a series of meetings.

‘Come in,’ Emma called, not looking up from where she was sat behind her desk.

There was a brief pause before the door handle turned and then the door was pushed open, revealing a large, heavy-set man with a mane of blonde hair that had been forcibly tamed to lie smoothed-back over his skull. The man was in a sharp, neatly-pressed suit but somehow he seemed to be as unsuited to it as a wild animal would have been.

‘Ah, Mr. Creed,’ Emma said, looking up from her desk, ‘I’ve been wanting to see you. Please do come in.’

The man promptly stepped inside the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

‘Have you made progress on our little problem?’ Emma asked when the door was shut.

Creed inclined his head.

‘We have been keeping track of him, yes ma’am,’ he said evenly, his voice deep and slightly rough, ‘At least, as best we can.’

Emma’s eyes narrowed at that.

‘ _As best we can_?’ she repeated icily.

Creed grimaced.

‘He rarely leaves the apartment, ma’am,’ he explained, standing straight and not allowing a hint of apology to enter his words; he wasn’t making excuses, he was merely relaying the facts. ‘And he’s highly paranoid. It has been … _difficult_ to effect an entry into his home. Even more so to do it without his knowledge and especially now that he has a neighbour, whom he appears to be friendly with. And if I may say so, ma’am, the floor of his apartment is like a minefield; he would know if anyone were to disturb it.’

Emma let out an impatient sigh and pushed the file on her desk shut.

‘This is _not_ acceptable, Mr. Creed,’ she said in a clipped voice. ‘We are being poked and prodded by _one_ nosy little policeman who has filled his head full of wild conspiracy theories and you’re saying that _this_ is the best that we can do!’

Creed appeared unmoved by her ire.

‘I would hardly say that he is working solely on conspiracy theories, ma’am,’ he said neutrally, looking carefully at a spot on the opposite wall. ‘He does, after all, have the name of two of our operatives.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Emma said softly, narrowing her eyes and leaning back into her chair, ‘Gypsy and Charlie.’ She then let out an irritated sigh. ‘And of course it _would_ be Charlie. I would have been more surprised if he _hadn’t_ been involved.’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘The boy is in serious danger of becoming more trouble than he is worth.’

Creed studied his nails carefully.

‘There is always the Attic if he proves to be too much …’ he murmured, but Emma brushed the suggestion aside.

‘No, no,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘It’s not as bad as all that. Merely a small, petty annoyance, Mr. Creed, nothing worth sending the poor boy to the Attic over. It’s hardly his fault, after all. Besides,’ her mouth twisted into a wry grimace, ‘I am sure that Mr. Shaw would be terribly displeased if anything were to happen to his precious Charlie.’

Creed didn’t say anything.

‘No,’ Emma said thoughtfully, ‘the problem isn’t with my Actives. It’s with this wretched policeman. What was his name again?’

‘Lehnsherr,’ Creed readily supplied, even though he was quite sure that Emma hadn’t forgotten the name at all, ‘Detective Erik Lehnsherr.’

‘That’s right,’ Emma nodded. ‘Rather unfortunate that he should have been acquainted with Gypsy. You would think, though, that after all this time he would have given up.’ She sighed. ‘I really don’t know whether to be irritated or impressed.’

Creed took a deep breath.

‘There is something that you ought to know,’ he said quietly, his deep voice rumbling in the silence. ‘Something important.’

Emma instantly became alert and she sat up in her chair.

‘Tell me,’ she barked, her eyes narrowed.

‘Something happened,’ Creed said, ‘Something potentially dangerous for the Foundation.’ He paused. ‘As you know, we have been monitoring Detective Lehnsherr’s computer traffic …’

Emma nodded and waved him on impatiently.

Creed continued. 

‘Well, it appears that he made a set of searches yesterday afternoon.’ His eyes met Emma’s. ‘The searches were all for names of both current and former Dollhouse clients.’

Emma’s spine tensed but that was all the reaction she showed at this news.

‘But that’s not all …’ Creed continued, sounding almost reluctant.

‘Go on,’ Emma said quietly.

Creed stared unflinchingly into her eyes.

‘All the Clients – all the names that he searched for?’ 

Emma nodded.

‘Well – they all used to be Clients of _hers_.’

Emma froze.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked in a low voice.

Creed nodded.

‘Mr. Creed, I asked you if you were _sure_.’

‘Yes,’ Creed said immediately. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’m sure. There’s no mistaking it.’

Emma shut her eyes for a moment. They snapped open after a second.

‘Goddamn it,’ she cursed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. ‘This is the last thing I need. Especially with _him_ coming in later.’ She held onto her nose for a moment longer before pulling her arm away and turning to face Creed again. ‘We must assume from here on out that Lehnsherr is working for her.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Creed said dutifully.

‘And that makes him highly dangerous,’ Emma continued, her eyes narrowed in thought. She paused for a moment before nodding. ‘I want you to pull all surveillance on Lehnsherr. Immediately.’

Creed jerked in surprise and couldn’t help staring at her.

‘ _All_ surveillance?’ he repeated, disbelieving. ‘Miss Frost – are you sure?’

Emma glared at him.

‘ _Yes_ , I’m sure,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t say things for my own amusement, Mr. Creed. I want you to pull our men out of there. We cannot risk her knowing that we have been watching.’ She grimaced. ‘You were with the Canadian branch at the time, so you will not remember this, but the last time she was cornered by our men … well, suffice to say that it was not pretty. I will not risk more members of our team, _nor_ will I risk her becoming aware of our surveillance and fleeing before we can find her. Besides,’ she added, calmer now, ‘we will still be monitoring Detective Lehnsherr’s computer and his communications. I doubt that we will miss much. No,’ she said, leaning back in her chair, ‘We will do it this way. Things will come to a head sooner or later. Either she will show her hand or …’

Creed waited.

‘… Or he will come to us,’ Emma finished, her expression thoughtful. ‘Yes, I can see that happening quite easily. I shall be interested to have a conversation with this man … this _detective_.’ She paused. ‘After all, I am reasonably sure that I have _something_ that he wants.’

Creed made no reply.

‘Very well,’ Emma said, shaking her head, ‘That will be all for now. You have your instructions, Mr. Creed. Would you care for me to repeat them?’

‘No, ma’am,’ Creed replied.

‘Good,’ said Emma, ‘Now, if you would be so kind as to apprise Dr. McCoy and your surveillance team of this new information, I have a few things that I need to take care of before this afternoon.’

Creed inclined his head respectfully.

‘Would you like any additional security on the premises for today with regards to your visitor?’ he asked, ‘Or perhaps even for the foreseeable future? If _she_ is involved then perhaps it might be sensible …’

‘Yes, very good, Mr. Creed,’ Emma nodded, already sounding slightly bored. ‘I shall leave the details up to you. You are, after all, in charge of security in the Dollhouse. Will there be anything else?’

‘No, ma’am,’ Creed said, before ducking his head in a sharp nod, turning on his heel, and making his way out of the office.

Emma waited until the door had shut gently behind him before getting up from her seat and making her way over to the wet bar that she’d had installed in her office by the second day of her becoming the House Director. She calmly poured a finger of fine amber liquid into a small, crystal glass, before bringing it to her lips and throwing it all back in one go. She allowed herself to feel the burn of the liquid for a moment before slowly setting the glass down and walking back to her chair. With one last look around her, she straightened her already impossibly-neat skirt, and sat down behind her desk.

It was not even ten o’clock in the morning and already she was wishing that the day would be over.

*****

Not five minutes after Emma had put the phone down there was a loud knock at the door. 

‘Enter,’ Emma said briskly.

The door was pushed open to reveal Logan, who did not seem the least bit pleased to have been called into her office.

‘Mr. Howlett.’

‘Miss Frost.’

Emma studied him for a moment before speaking. 

‘I take it that you are wondering why I called you into my office,’ she said evenly.

‘Got that straight,’ Logan muttered. He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at her. ‘So what is it this time? I been caught smoking on the premises? Swearing in front of my Active? Sneaking beer into the House when nobody’s looking?’

Emma’s eyes narrowed.

‘For both your sake and mine, Mr. Howlett, I seriously hope that you have not been doing any of the above,’ she said coldly. ‘Be assured that we take any breach of the House rules and regulations _very_ seriously, and any further infraction on your part-’

She was interrupted by Logan rolling his eyes.

‘I was only tryin’ to be funny, _Jesus_!’ he said, huffing loudly.

‘You were trying, Mr. Howlett,’ Emma’s tone was frosty, ‘But I can assure you that you were _not_ succeeding.’

Logan didn’t seem to be all that concerned.

‘Now,’ Emma said, turning her focus back onto more important things, ‘the reason I called you in here is to check on your progress with Charlie.’

Logan blinked.

‘You want a progress report?’ he asked slowly.

Emma stared back at him, expectant.

‘I just turned in a goddamn report two days ago!’ Logan growled. ‘Spent a hell of a lot of time on it, too. You telling me that you don’t even read that shi- … that stuff?’

‘Every word,’ Emma said blandly. ‘Now, if you would please begin.’ 

There was no response. 

Sighing at the mulish look on Logan’s face, Emma raised her head. Apparently a little prompting would be necessary. ‘How is Charlie behaving?’ she asked. ‘Is he still insisting on being called Charles?’

‘You know he is,’ Logan said grumpily. ‘Not that he’s “insisting” or nothing. Everyone just kinda calls him that now anyway, without his asking.’

‘Including yourself?’ Emma asked sharply.

Logan eyed her with something close to dislike before shrugging.

‘Yeah,’ he said, his eyes meeting hers unflinchingly. ‘Yeah, I do. You told me to keep my Doll happy, so that’s what I’m fu- … what I’m damn well doing.’

Emma didn’t respond to that. She appeared to be mulling something over, a small frown appearing in the middle of her forehead. After a moment she shook her head, allowing her expression to smooth out into its usual blankness.

‘And his other behaviour?’ she asked crisply. ‘He hasn’t been exhibiting any alarming or unusual traits? Anything even slightly out of the ordinary?’

Logan gave her an odd look at that before firmly shaking his head.

‘No,’ he said resolutely. ‘Everything’s normal and hunky-freaking-dory. Ask McCoy if you don’t believe me.’

‘I am not questioning your veracity, Mr. Howlett,’ Emma said in a bored tone. She adjusted the angle of a pen on her desk before glancing over at Logan. ‘One more question. Have you ever encountered anyone strange on any of your Assignments?’

Logan stared at her.

‘I’m guessing you don’t mean the Clients,’ he said slowly. ‘But no, I can’t say I have. No one that stuck out, at any rate.’

‘You’re sure?’ Emma persisted. ‘No one following you, no one paying you undue attention …?’

‘Positive,’ Logan replied confidently. Then his eyes narrowed. ‘What’s this about, anyhow?’ he demanded. ‘What’s going on? Is Charles in trouble?’

‘ _Charlie_ is _fine_ ,’ Emma said pointedly, stopping Logan before he could continue further. ‘Nothing is the matter. Nothing that we cannot handle, at any rate.’

‘Charlie is _my_ responsibility,’ Logan said stubbornly, his fists clenched and his body taut with suppressed tension. ‘If there’s something going on then I deserve to know about it.’

Emma eyed him for a moment before tilting her head in acquiescence.

‘Very well,’ she said calmly. ‘The simple fact of the matter is that Charlie has something of a stalker. Someone who is rather obsessed with him. Someone who could very well be dangerous both to Charlie and to the whole Foundation.’

Logan’s expression had become thunderous.

‘He’s got a goddamn _stalker_?’ he snarled, holding onto his anger only with great difficulty, ‘And you’re only telling me this _now_?’

‘I’ve told you whatever was necessary,’ Emma said composedly. ‘And yes, Charlie has a rather fervent and devoted admirer. It’s odd, isn’t it, how he seems to have that effect on people. Don’t you think, Mr. Howlett?’

Logan merely bared his teeth at her.

Emma sighed.

‘I will have the details sent to you tonight,’ she told him. ‘Everything that we have on file will be yours to peruse. After all,’ she added wryly, ‘Charlie _is_ your responsibility.’

Logan still didn’t seem to be happy.

‘Why can’t I see the file now?’ he demanded suspiciously, arms still firmly crossed against his chest.

Emma’s eyes narrowed at his tone.

‘Charlie has an Assignment this afternoon,’ she said coldly. ‘A very important Assignment, if you must know, and I need him to be ready and on top form. Which, as I just reminded you, Mr. Howlett, is _your_ responsibility. Or are you not up to the challenge?’

Logan looked ready to strike her.

‘Oh, I’m up for it,’ he snarled, casting a disgusted look around at the office as he made his way to the door, not caring that he hadn’t being excused. ‘I’m fucking delighted. In fact, I’ll go see Charlie right now. _Someone_ has to truss up the turkey before it’s slaughtered, right?’

‘Delightful imagery, I’m sure,’ Emma said, attention already turned towards her desk. ‘Make sure Charlie is ready and prepared. It will be a twenty-four hour Assignment at the very least.’

Logan cast one more disgusted look at her before turning around and slamming the door behind him.

Emma waited for the china figurine on her desk to stop rattling before slowly bringing her hand up and pushing a strand of blonde hair away from her face. That done, she picked up her pen and, turning her eyes back to her desk, continued to write.

*****

It was a few minutes after two when Emma heard the sound of feet in the corridor. She had just enough time to set down her pen and look up from her desk when the door swung open, revealing none other than Sebastian Shaw in her doorway.

‘Emma!’ he exclaimed, his gleaming white teeth sparkling as he bared them in a wide, satisfied smile. ‘It’s been a while!’

Emma slowly rose from her seat.

‘Sebastian,’ she said coolly, giving him a stiff little smile, ‘It has indeed.’

‘All is well, I trust?’ Shaw asked, walking around the office as if it were his own and staring at the shelves in interest. ‘Smooth sailing and calm waters and all that?’

Emma watched him for a moment before dipping her head in a nod.

‘As you say,’ she said calmly, ‘Everything is in order.’

‘Good,’ Shaw smiled, ‘You always were supremely capable, Emma. It’s one of the reasons why I made you Director.’

Emma’s eye twitched at the unsubtle reminder but she dutifully pasted on a pleasant smile.

‘A fact that I am continually grateful for, Sebastian,’ she said smoothly. ‘One cannot deny that you have quite the knack for finding talent.’

Shaw’s mouth lifted at that. If Emma were a lesser woman, she would have shuddered at the expression. As it was, her face remained blank.

‘Just so,’ Shaw murmured, 'And speaking of ...' A small, possessive smile curled at his lips, ‘How _is_ my little Charlie? Getting on well, I hope?’

Emma didn’t so much as twitch.

‘I assure you that he is perfectly content,’ she said briskly, ‘His Clients all rate him very highly.’

‘He’s been kept busy?’ Shaw asked innocently.

Emma turned to look at him.

‘He is one of our most popular Actives, as you well know,’ she said coolly, before pointedly adding, ‘ _You_ yourself are not fully immune to his charms, after all.’

Shaw’s expression flickered at that but it quickly smoothened out into his usual expression of smug affability.

‘His charms _are_ considerable,’ he said easily, smiling as a particular memory came to the fore. ‘Love at first sight, I’ve always thought.’

Emma suddenly found the wall opposite her very interesting to look at.

‘And you, Emma?’ Shaw continued, coming to lean his hip against her desk. ‘Are _you_ immune to Charlie’s many charms?’ There was something ugly and possessive in the look that he gave her, as if daring her to reply in the negative.

Emma merely raised an eyebrow.

‘I regard all my Actives as if they were my children,’ she said coolly. ‘And unlike some of the Clients that we administer to, I am not in the least bit fond of incest.’

Shaw smirked at that, withdrawing from her desk.

‘You always were impervious,’ he said, an almost fond smile playing on his lips. ‘Never one to display the more human emotions. It’s what I like about you. Did you know, I once considered recruiting you as a Doll?’

Emma stiffened.

‘Yes,’ Shaw continued reflectively, ‘I had an idea that it would be rather amusing to see you like that … see what was beneath that frosty veneer.’

Emma’s jaw tightened.

‘I suppose I am lucky that you ran into Charlie before that could happen,’ she said evenly, her voice not at all betraying the seething anger that roared beneath her veins.

Shaw smiled at that.

‘Yes, I suppose you are,’ he said easily. ‘Now,’ he straightened up, the smirk gone and replaced with a brisk sort of professionalism, ‘Where are this quarter’s financial reports? From what I remember from my last visit, your little Darwin wasn’t pulling his weight. I hope that this quarter’s review is better – for his sake.’

Emma’s mouth thinned.

‘He’s doing very well,’ she said coldly, before asking, ‘Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather do this later?’

Shaw looked up at that, and a wide, amused smile spread over his face.

‘Later?’ he repeated jovially. ‘My dear Emma, _later_ I have no intention of being disturbed for anything short of a nuclear explosion. So why don’t we get this whole thing over and done with so that I can spend the next twenty-four hours in blissful peace, hmm?’

Emma nodded her head.

‘Very well,’ she said. She then pulled out a file from the top of the pile on her desk and handed it to Shaw. ‘Here it is. This quarter’s individual and combined revenues along with the projections for the next six months. All here.’

Shaw took the file from her and smiled.

‘My dear, dear Emma,’ he said fondly, ‘The lone cog that turns the machine. Whatever would we do without you?’

Emma closed her eyes and wondered the same.


	13. Reassignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwilling to let anything slow down his investigation, Erik eventually discovers something that changes the whole nature of the case.

‘Oh _fuck_!’

Erik had to step aside as Raven shoved past him and dry-retched against the wall, her whole body shaking and heaving with every ragged breath that she took.

He himself couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot. All he could do was stand there and stare at the mess in front of him. The horrific, bloody mess that had once been the walking, talking, living body of Keith Brown a.k.a Carl Goldman.

‘Oh my God,’ Raven was saying. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my _God_ -’

‘Shut _up_!’ Erik hissed, jerking his hand at her to stay silent. ‘Be quiet! I need to think!’

‘ _Think?_ ’ Raven asked hysterically. ‘The guy was freaking _murdered_! What the _fuck_ is there to think about?’

‘Our explanation for being here, for a start,’ Erik said harshly, still not able to peel his eyes away from the corpse in front of him. This was it, he thought wildly. This was their one clue and now they had lost it. The corpse couldn’t be more than a day old. A day. They had lost out by a fucking _day_.

Raven lifted her head from where she had been dry-heaving in the corner.

‘Uh – this may be a really dumb question, but – why can’t we just tell the truth?’

Erik pulled himself away from his inner tirade to give her a flat look.

‘Because that’s a _great_ idea,’ he said sarcastically, his lip curled into a sneer. ‘Truly exceptional. “You see, Officer, we received an anonymous tip in the post yesterday that had to do with our secret hush-hush investigation into the possibly non-existent Dollhouse, and we realised that nearly every person on the list had been brutally murdered but we didn’t do anything about it because _one_ of us was on a _date_!”’

‘Oi!’ Raven shot right up, anger suffusing her face as she jabbed her finger at Erik. ‘Don’t you go blaming that on _me_! We didn’t find out that they’d been murdered till ages after! And I don’t see what’s so bad about saying all of that when it’s _true_!’

Erik closed his eyes and rubbed at his face with his hands.

‘Yes, well, sometimes the truth isn’t the best thing to say,’ he said gruffly, wincing at his own words. At Raven’s look of disbelief, he shrugged. ‘Look, it’s not like this is an official investigation – and in any case _you’re_ a civilian.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s complicated. But trust me when I say that telling the truth here? It won’t help us.’

Raven was looking vaguely dazed.

‘I don’t know, Erik,’ she said, sounding tired. ‘I don’t know if I can do this. Lie, I mean. To the police.’

Erik clenched his jaw, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on.

‘Fine,’ he said abruptly, turning to face her. ‘You go home then. I’ll stay here and deal with things.’

Raven stared at him.

‘…What?’ she asked after a moment.

‘Yes,’ Erik was nodding to himself, ‘It’s better that way. Things will be less complicated if you aren’t here. You go, and I’ll call this in. Say that I stumbled onto a lead somehow. They’ll believe me. Believe it or not, I was quite a well-respected detective before I stumbled onto the Dollhouse.’

‘Right,’ Raven said, looking slightly ill. She glanced up at Erik, and for the first time ever she looked completely unsure of herself. ‘You’re certain about this?’ she asked, biting her lip. ‘You’re absolutely sure that everything will be fine?’

‘Yes,’ Erik nodded, projecting a certainty that he really did not feel. ‘I am sure. Now _go_.’

And with one last look at Erik, Raven nodded, turned around, and fled out of the door.

Erik watched the doorway for a minute before sighing and turning around to face the blood-soaked apartment. He stared at the corpse for a moment, his professional gaze lingering contemplatively on the body in front of him. He then straightened up and, taking a moment to tug at his shirt so that it was neat and straight, reached down into his left trouser pocket and pulled out his phone.

He paused for a moment before lifting the phone up. Then, taking a deep breath, he began to dial.

*****

Things changed after that. Raven and Erik spent just as much time together as before but now there were fractures beginning to show that Erik didn’t have the slightest clue how to fix. He watched in silence as Raven seemed to grow more and more agitated, her anxiety and nervous energy expressing itself in often-violent mood-swings and tempers.

The murder seemed to prey upon her mind almost constantly, colouring all of their interactions. Sometimes she would urge Erik to abandon the investigation, pressing him to leave things well and alone, for her sake if not for his own. A little later, however, she would turn around and, almost sizzling with impatience, bark that they weren’t getting anywhere in their search, and that they needed to move faster and make more tangible progress, the words ‘ _before someone else is murdered_ ’ hanging heavy in the air, unsaid. 

Worst of all, however, were the times that Erik would find Raven staring at him. Sometimes there would be a hopelessly lost, vulnerable expression on her face, as if she had no idea what she was doing there with him. Other times there was a considering, evaluative look in her eye. But sometimes, when he would glance up suddenly and meet her eyes before she could turn away, there would be look of something terribly akin to hatred on her face; a sharp-burning anger, as if she blamed him for making her a part of this business, for allowing the dark shadow of murder to enter her normally bright and happy world. For all that she talked smart, she was still just a young girl, and there were some things that just couldn’t be shaken off easily. This was no longer a game anymore; even Raven recognised that things started being a lot less fun when murder was involved.

Erik mostly just left her alone at these times. He knew that he should do more; that he should try to talk to her, find out what she was feeling and help her through it … but he didn’t. He’d tried – he honestly had – but Raven’s monosyllabic grunts and glares had immediately put him off the idea. He had even subtly – or not so subtly, as it turned out – suggested that she visit a therapist to talk through her reactions to seeing a dead body, but Raven’s look of scorn and her subsequent slew of inventive swear words had nipped that idea in the bud as well. In the end Erik decided that the best thing to do was to just leave her alone and let her come to him when she was ready.

It took a while, but eventually his strategy succeeded.

A few days after the stabbing, Erik looked up from the pile of papers on his lap to see Raven standing at his side, looking slightly uncertain. He slowly straightened up and, moving his papers aside, turned to look at her.

‘I’m not okay,’ she abruptly began before he could say anything. ‘What happened in that apartment … that’s not okay. It’s so far from okay that it’s not even funny. But I also get that it’s not your fault or anything, and I realise that I forced you to make me a part of this so … so I guess what I’m saying is that I’m sorry for being such a bitch these last couple of days. You – you didn’t deserve it.’

Erik’s expression didn’t change.

‘So … yeah,’ Raven said, fidgeting awkwardly and looking down at her feet. ‘That’s what I wanted to say.’ She turned around to leave.

Erik let out a sigh.

‘Raven,’ he said tiredly, ‘Just – stay a minute.’ He waited until Raven had reluctantly turned around before continuing, ‘I don’t want you to apologise. I just – I want you to be okay. I want to know that you are all right.’

Raven’s expression faltered at that before she gave him a wry look.

‘Well I don’t know about that,’ she said dryly, ‘But if you’re worried that I’ll fall apart? Don’t be.’ She straightened up. ‘I’m stronger than you would think.’

Erik nodded but he continued to frown.

‘I know,’ he said, his expression troubled, ‘But that’s not the point.’ He looked up at her then. ‘The point is that I shouldn’t have involved you in this. This case – this whole thing is _my_ problem. You should never have been anywhere near this, but I allowed it, against my better judgement. I keep forgetting that you’re only young, that you’re just a girl. No, Raven,’ he continued before Raven could voice her indignation, ‘What you saw in that apartment – that’s the least of it. Things are getting dangerous now, and I can’t let you be a part of that.’ He met her eyes steadily. ‘I’m sorry, Raven, but I can’t allow you to work with me on this anymore.’

At first Raven looked furious. Her eyes narrowed into slits and her nostrils flared, her body a taut line of anger. But, as Erik continued to look into her eyes unflinchingly, she suddenly deflated, her hands unclenching and her eyes lowering in resignation.

‘You’re right,’ she said reluctantly, ‘I – I didn’t want to admit it but this whole case has been weighing on me. It’s … harder than I thought that it would be. And I agree – I shouldn’t be so involved in everything. I still want to know about case,’ she said sharply, when Erik let out a sigh of relief, ‘But maybe just the highlights. And stuff.’

‘And stuff,’ Erik agreed dryly, but he couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice. ‘Agreed.’

Raven, however, was looking at him, an odd expression on her face.

‘Not many people really care about me,’ she said abruptly, causing Erik to stare at her, nonplussed. ‘Not many people would be so … you know. Be so concerned and want to look out for me and stuff. Apart from my brother, that is, but it’s not like he can …’ she trailed off and shook her head almost angrily before taking a deep breath. ‘Never mind. I guess what I mean to say is: thanks. You know. For giving a shit, and all that.’

Erik stared at her for a moment longer before slowly lowering his head in acknowledgement.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said quietly.

Raven gave a jerky nod at that and looked at the ground.

There was a moment of silence.

‘So …’ Raven said after a pause, breaking the spell. ‘Now what?’

Erik glanced over at the clock on his wall and sighed. 

‘Now?’ he said. ‘Now I go to work.’

Following his discovery of Carl Goldman’s body and his identifying the link between Goldman and the four other murders, Erik had been automatically reinstated to his former position within the police department and had been put in charge of the investigation. His colleagues seemed to be under the impression that his obsession with the Dollhouse had finally blown over, and Erik was in no hurry to correct them.

‘Congratulations, by the way,’ Raven smiled at him as he stood up, ‘On ditching the grunt-work and going back to being Mr. Awesome-Police-Detective again. I’m happy for you.’

Erik gave her a nod of thanks.

‘Besides,’ Raven added thoughtfully, ‘We can work this to our advantage.’

Erik raised an eyebrow at that even as he pulled on his coat.

‘Well,’ Raven said slowly, ‘Now that this is an open case you can use official resources to find out more about these guys – you know, stuff you couldn’t do when you were lone-wolfing it. Like – I don’t know – pull their telephone records and bank statements and stuff.’

Erik’s mouth twitched at that.

‘We’ll make a detective of you yet,’ he murmured. He then gestured to the doorway, ‘Lead the way, Miss Marple.’

‘After you, Sherlock,’ Raven replied in her snootiest voice, before letting out a giggle.

Erik smiled and shut the door behind them.

They were going to be okay.

*****

They were more than okay.

‘Raven, you little genius,’ Erik murmured as he scanned the records in front of him, feeling a swell of triumph well up in his gut. 

He had pulled the dead men’s telephone and bank records, just as Raven had suggested, and while the phone records hadn’t yet given up anything useful, the bank records had all but yielded gold.

‘Look,’ he told her later, feverishly laying the pages out on the table in front of him. ‘These are copies of each of the men’s financial records – not their public ones, understand, but their personal and executive accounts – and believe me when I say that these were _very_ difficult to get. It’s only for the fact that this is a murder enquiry and because all the requisitioned records belonged to dead men that we got to see them at all. But here,’ he grasped Raven by the arm and pulled her closer. ‘Look at all of them. See anything that they have in common?’

Raven was silent for a moment as she scrutinised the statements in front of her. Erik watched her face closely as she did, and he smiled grimly as he saw Raven’s eyes widen.

‘That name!’ she exclaimed, looking again to check that she was right. ‘That name is on every single one of the statements!’

Erik nodded. 

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘And not just once either. ‘Some of them seem to be paying money into this account several times a month.’

‘But – this is _amazing_!’ Raven exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. ‘We’re doing it! We’re getting closer. We have a fucking _name_!’

Erik couldn’t help but smile at that.

‘Yes, we do,’ he murmured. He squeezed Raven’s shoulder as he looked down on the bank statements in front of him, and his expression changed from one of pleasure to one of raw determination. ‘We do indeed. And I, for one, am very much looking forward to meeting this Doctor Klaus Schmidt.’

*****

Klaus Schmidt didn’t exist. Or rather, he _had_ existed once, but had then mysteriously disappeared over twenty years ago, never to be heard from again.

Until now, that is.

‘“Klaus Schmidt, the renowned German scientist has been officially declared missing”,’ Raven read aloud, raising an eyebrow at the two-decade-old article in front of her. ‘It says here that he was a promising young scientist in Germany with his whole future ahead of him when he suddenly disappeared without a trace.’

‘What sort of scientist was he?’ Erik asked absent-mindedly, glancing at the article that Raven was holding. The face in the picture, blurry and unfocused as it was, looked vaguely familiar.

‘Neurological,’ Raven answered, turning around when Erik went still. ‘It means he’s a brain scientist.’

‘I know what “neurological” means, Raven,’ Erik snapped. ‘That wasn’t why I reacted. This Schmidt specialised in human brains … and from what I can tell, the Dollhouse would need someone with that kind of expertise in order to do the sort of things that they are doing. Right?’

‘So you think this Schmidt guy is responsible for – what? – creating the Dollhouse?’ Raven asked, frowning even as she sat up straight in her seat.

Erik shrugged.

‘It’s certainly possible,’ he said grimly. ‘Although he is just as likely to have been kidnapped and made to work for the Dollhouse, who are now using his name to smooth out their financial transactions. Or else they may have killed him.’

Raven’s face twitched.

‘I think I’ll stick with the first idea, thanks’ she said firmly, glaring down at the blurred picture of the man in the article. ‘You know, the one that says that this is our bad guy and that he’s the reason why we’re doing this in the first place.’

Erik’s eyes unconsciously drifted over to where the picture of Charles Xavier was stuck to the wall. He frowned, still slightly doubtful.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, looking troubled. ‘This man … he hasn’t been seen or heard from in over twenty years. That’s a _long_ time. God knows where he is now … if he’s even alive, that is. There’s no trail whatsoever – nothing at all since his disappearance. It would be impossible to find him. He could still be in Germany, for all we know.’

‘What about his bank account details?’ Raven pressed.

Erik shook his head.

‘We can’t tell,’ he said, grimacing. ‘It leads to a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. Which then leads to another account in the Bahamas. Which then leads to another account in Zurich. Which then-’

‘All right, all right, I get it,’ Raven scowled. She glared once more at the faded picture of Schmidt in the article. ‘Bastard.’

Erik seemed to echo her sentiment.

‘I’m not even sure we’ll ever be able to find him,’ he confessed with great reluctance. ‘The trail – whatever there is of it – is probably too cold to be of any use and the fact that it’d be a paper trail as opposed to an electronic one …’ He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that finding Schmidt would be nigh on impossible.’

Raven pursed her lips at that.

‘Maybe,’ she said, unwilling to give up so easily, ‘But that doesn’t keep us from trying.’

Erik nodded, smiling grimly.

‘I’ll find out _something_ about this Klaus Schmidt,’ he promised her. ‘One way or another, I will find him.’

And Raven looked at him and believed him.

*****

A week later, and a third brown envelope appeared under Erik’s door.

It happened in almost exactly the same way as the last time: Erik was out jogging, Raven was asleep, and there were no signs of forced entry anywhere in the building. The envelope was once again hand-delivered and was completely free of fingerprints. Finally, just like the others, it too contained just one piece of paper, this one like the first: a photograph with a name written in thick black marker at the bottom.

‘Oh my god,’ Raven gasped when she saw the picture in front of her, Erik holding it out with a very grim expression on his face.

The picture showed the smug, smiling face of one of the most influential men in recent times, whose features closely resembled those found in the faded, blurry photograph of Dr. Klaus Schmidt from an article that was over twenty years old. A man who seemed to have gone missing in Germany more than twenty years before, only to suddenly appear half-way across the world, completely transformed into someone wealthier and more powerful than anyone could ever have predicted.

The picture showed a well-respected scientist, philanthropist and business entrepreneur, whose infamously top-secret laboratories were the envy of scientific communities and pharmaceutical companies the world over. It showed the man who had created the Shaw Foundation, a clandestine, progressive scientific think-tank that was referenced in newspapers world-wide at least every other day.

The picture showed the man that was responsible for the disappearance of Charles Xavier, Magda, and countless other men and women across the world; all of them innocent people who had been lured into the sinister and almost mythical Dollhouse and made to serve the whims and pleasures of the unscrupulous and perverted rich.

The picture showed the face of none other than Sebastian Shaw, a.k.a Doctor Klaus Schmidt, the one man that was responsible for the whole damn fucked-up mess and all the fucking shitty things that came after it.

Erik and Raven, pulling their eyes away from the damning picture in front of them, turned to each other and shared a glance. This glance communicated the exact same thing that was running through each of their minds. 

They were, without a single doubt, completely and royally fucked.


	14. Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Shaw has a Thought.

Shaw finished with a groan, his eyes closing briefly in bliss as he pulled himself away, grunting at the chilly air that now surrounded him. Shoving the other body aside, he rolled over and collapsed on the right-hand side of the bed, smiling slightly when soft, pale fingers drew the covers up around his torso. Just as they were about to withdraw, Shaw struck out with his own hand and tangled his fingers together with those of his bed-partner, drawing them back to his chest.

‘That was lovely, my sweet,’ he said generously, squeezing the other’s hand and enjoying the limpness of the returning squeeze, a sure-indicator that the other was exhausted. ‘Very, very nice indeed.’

Charlie raised his head at that and blushed, his smile full of pride. Murmuring a word of thanks, he leaned down over Sebastian and placed a sweet, hot kiss on his mouth, which Shaw benevolently permitted. When the kiss began to get too heated, however, Shaw sighed and pushed Charlie’s head away.

‘Not now, pet,’ he said sternly, causing Charlie to pull away with a disappointed look that quickly turned petulant. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes fondly, Shaw reached out with his left arm and allowed Charlie to snuggle into his shoulder instead. Charlie, taking advantage of this unexpected intimacy, closed his eyes and hummed happily, snuggling in as close as he could. 

Shaw smiled as Charlie wriggled up against him, feeling content.

‘There’s something about you, pet,’ he sighed, his fingers lightly tracing Charlie’s skin. ‘I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t get enough of you. No matter what I do. No matter how many times I have you.’ His mouth suddenly quirked up at that, as if in some private little joke. ‘And believe me,’ he murmured, ‘I have had you more times than you could possible know.’ His smirk faded after a moment, however, and his brows turned down so that he looked almost puzzled. ‘And yet … and yet …’

Charlie’s eyes peered up at him curiously from where he was buried in Sebastian’s shoulder. Shaw eyed him for a moment, a contemplative, almost clinical look on his face as he inspected Charlie. Then, humming to himself, he turned his head back again so that it was resting firmly on the pillow.

‘You know I’ve had you in every way possible?’ he mused, eyes on the ceiling even as the fingers of his left hand idly stroked up and down Charlie’s flank. ‘In every sort of state and mood and position? Willing, unwilling … frightened, desperate. Insatiable,’ he smirked at the memory. ‘Aroused. Virginal. Awake, asleep … in love with me,’ he added wryly, angling his head towards Charlie who looked back at him with a bemused yet doting smile. ‘Every single way that I could think of. And yet, every time – _every time_ – there’s been something missing.’

Charlie gave him a bewildered look, blinking his big doe eyes at him. He cocked his head when Shaw paused, a confused, helpless smile coming to his lips.

‘I think you must have bumped your head, Seb darling,’ he said with a short hesitant laugh. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

Shaw smiled.

‘Never you mind, pet,’ he said affectionately, lifting his fingers to stroke through Charlie’s hair. ‘You just zip that clever little mouth of yours and go back to looking pretty for me. Now, as I was saying,’ he continued, his tone once more contemplative, ‘There’s always been something missing. Something that’s not … natural. Even when I make it so that you’re – let’s say _unreceptive_ – to my advances, there’s something not quite right. Something … unsatisfying. And I can’t for the life for me figure out what it is.’

Charlie squirmed slightly, an oddly anxious look edging onto his face. His confusion was more palpable now, Sebastian’s words seeming to make him more than a little uncomfortable.

‘Seb,’ he began, biting his lip worriedly, ‘I’m not quite sure what you’re saying, but-’ He was cut off by Sebastian’s hand suddenly tightening its grasp on his hair.

‘What did I say about keeping that mouth of yours zipped, hmm?’ Shaw asked, his tone sweet but his eyes hard and his grip firm. He used his grasp on Charlie’s hair to shake him, causing a quiet gasp to leave Charlie’s lips. ‘Now, you go back to being a good little boy, or I’m going to be _very_ unhappy with you. You wouldn’t want me to be unhappy with you, would you, pet?’

Charlie swallowed and for a moment there seemed to be a flash of real fear in his eyes. It was wiped away almost instantly, however, and a second later Charlie smiled and coyly lowered his gaze.

‘I always want you to be happy with me, Seb,’ he murmured, glancing up at Shaw from under his eyelashes.

Shaw smiled at that and released his grip on Charlie’s hair.

‘Good boy,’ he said, petting him gently. ‘Now don’t interrupt me again. As I was saying,’ he continued, ‘something is off. And I can’t understand it. I’ve tried everything that I can think of – I’ve even had you be as close to being Professor Charles Xavier as it is possible to be without actually _being_ him, and yet … and yet it’s _still_ not right.’ He turned to look Charlie in the eye. ‘There’s something wrong, pet, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.’

Charlie looked up at him with wide blue eyes.

Shaw slowly reached out a hand and drew a gentle finger down the side of Charlie’s face.

‘It’s not you, pet,’ he said softly, ‘It’s not your fault. You’re doing everything that I want, everything that I ask of you. But the fact of the matter is, you’re not _him_.’ And there was a sudden flash of rage in Shaw’s eyes, of jealousy and lust and possession. ‘Whatever I do, whatever I make _you_ do, you’re still not _him_. You’re still not him and he still doesn’t _know_. He doesn’t know what I’m doing to him because I’m _not_ doing it to him, not really.’ He tenderly brushed his thumb against Charlie’s lower lip. ‘And while you’re wonderful, dearest – truly a pleasure to be with – as long as I don’t have him, it won’t be enough. You’ll always be second best.’

Charlie pouted at that, looking hurt even though he obviously didn’t have the slightest clue what Shaw was talking about. As Shaw watched, a look of doubt entered Charlie’s expression and he began to chew on his lip in an anxious sort of way, his eyes flicking up to Shaw’s every few seconds with a vague sort of apprehension. Shaw, finding himself filled with an odd feeling of tenderness, gave him a rueful smile. 

‘Oh, don’t worry, pet,’ he said gently, stroking Charlie’s cheek again. ‘I’ll never replace you. I’ll always have you. Always. I promise. It’s just a foolish whim, no more.’ He smiled and his fingers suddenly twisted into a harsh grip as he clutched Charlie’s chin tightly. ‘After all, why would I want anybody else when _you_ serve me so well?’ He tightened his grasp on Charlie’s face before roughly shoving him down his body towards the foot of the bed. ‘You _will_ serve me, won’t you, pet? Won’t you, my pretty little whore?’

Charlie’s wide, innocent eyes met his. That sweet red mouth then turned up in a secret smile before slowly lowering down, eyes never leaving Sebastian’s.

Shaw let out a muted gasp at the first touch, before he then closed his eyes, his hands sinking roughly into the thick hair below him.

He was merely being greedy, he told himself. After all, why on earth would he want anything else when he still had _this_?

And yet something black and hungry still coiled in his gut, wanting and lusting after the one thing that he wanted but could not have.

Yet.

*****

‘No, absolutely not!’ Emma looked appalled, her eyes full of anger and disgust and – was that _fear_? ‘I absolutely _forbid_ it, Sebastian. The answer is, and always will be, _no_!’

Shaw sighed and, straightening up from where he had been standing with his shoulder pressed against the wall, looked at Frost with exasperation.

‘Come now, Emma,’ he said impatiently, tucking his hands into his pockets even as he frowned at her. ‘You’re being unreasonable.’

Emma let out a harsh laugh.

‘ _Unreasonable?_ ’ she repeated disbelievingly. ‘Sebastian, that’s a lot to take coming from anyone, but from _you_ it’s _laughable_.’

Shaw gritted his teeth.

‘You’re making this very difficult,’ he said, annoyed. ‘I don’t see why you won’t just do this one small thing for me. It’s not as if you’ve ever refused any of my other requests.’

‘Your other requests weren’t for _this_!’ Emma snapped, gesturing sharply with her hand.

‘Come, Emma,’ Shaw said, impatience entering his voice. ‘This is hardly the worst thing that I’ve asked you to do. This isn’t even the worse thing that I’ve asked you to do to _Charlie_!’

Emma’s lips tightened.

‘That’s not the point,’ she said coldly. ‘What you are referring to occurred with Charles Xavier. This is _Charlie_. There is, as you well know, Sebastian, quite the difference.’

‘Whatever the difference is, it’s minimal,’ Shaw said, trying very hard not to snap. ‘He may be Charlie now, but once you return Xavier’s mind to him, he’ll be-’

‘He’ll still be Charlie,’ Emma snapped, her eyes narrowed into slits. ‘He’ll still be Charlie because he will still be under contract and he won’t have the ability to say no. He will still be an Active, Sebastian, and as I am in charge of the welfare of everyone under this roof, I am going to firmly put my foot down and tell you what I don’t think you have heard enough of in your lifetime: _no_.’

Shaw gave up all attempts at reigning in his temper.

‘Need I remind you that I am the founder of this whole facility?’ he hissed. ‘That I own this whole operation and everyone in it? That I own _you_?’

Emma’s eyes narrowed dangerously even as her outward appearance remained otherwise unchanged.

‘Is that a threat, Sebastian?’ she asked, her voice calm.

‘That very much depends,’ Shaw replied grimly, his eyes fixed on Emma’s, ‘on whether or not you give me what I want.’

‘Then I shall have to assume that it was a threat,’ Emma answered calmly, ‘As I have no intention whatsoever of giving in to your demands.’

Shaw’s expression became thunderous.

‘Be very careful, Emma,’ he said warningly, his voice low. ‘I am a forgiving man, but the one thing that I will not tolerate is disloyalty.’

Emma raised an eyebrow at that.

‘I’m afraid that you have it all wrong, Sebastian,’ she said, her voice cold. ‘You are the one that put me in charge of the Dollhouse. You yourself charged me with keeping the Actives safe. You told me that it was my duty to look after them.’ She paused. ‘You should know that I take my duties very seriously, Sebastian. And if that means keeping them safe from _you_ ,’ her eyes met Shaw’s and she held the gaze as she said the next words, ‘then so be it.’

Shaw gritted his teeth together but Emma hadn’t finished.

‘So it is not _my_ loyalty to the Dollhouse that is to be called into question,’ she said lightly before turning to glare at him. ‘It is _yours_.’

Shaw folded his arms and stared at her in disbelief.

‘ _My_ loyalty?’ he laughed incredulously. ‘Emma, dearest, this is _my_ company. Without me there wouldn’t _be_ a Dollhouse.’

‘Maybe so,’ Emma acknowledged with a brief dip of her head, ‘But let’s not forget that the Dollhouse, for all its … futuristic originality, is, at the end of the day, still a business. And all businesses have boardrooms, and all boardrooms have directors, and all directors …’ There was a pointed pause. ‘… have influence. And be _very_ assured, Sebastian, that _some_ of us have more influence than others.’ She glanced down at her nails. ‘How do you think the board will take the news that their chairman – their _Founder_ – was breaking rules left, right and centre all in pursuit of one piece of tail? I have a feeling that they won’t be too pleased at that. Very conservative group, I find, for a committee that essentially deals in a form of very high-level prostitution.’ Her eyes flicked up to meet Shaw’s. ‘You see, Sebastian, I have no illusions about what it is that we do. I see things _very_ clearly. I hope, for your own sake, that you come to do so as well.’

They were at an impasse.

Shaw stared at Emma, his inner rage fighting with a sudden deep sense of respect for her. In the end, respect won.

‘Oh Emma,’ he said at last, a short, rueful laugh escaping him. ‘I really ought to have made you into a Doll when I had the chance.’

Emma smiled sweetly at him.

‘We all make mistakes,’ she said coolly, before raising an eyebrow. ‘And I think we can both agree that this conversation was one of them. Yes?’

Shaw hesitated for a moment, but gave a stiff nod when he saw Emma cock her head questioningly.

‘It appears so,’ he said dryly.

Emma smiled.

‘Good,’ she said, and suddenly she was once again her usual frostily-gracious self. ‘I hope you have enjoyed your time with us, Sebastian. It has been very good to see you again. I trust you found everything to your satisfaction?’

Shaw turned to her with a cocked eyebrow and a wry expression but Emma’s air of unaffected placidity didn’t falter.

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment, sighing in a terribly put-upon manner. ‘Yes, everything was … satisfactory.’

Emma’s smile was sharp and it did not meet her eyes.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said coolly. ‘Do make sure to drop by the next time you are in the country, Sebastian.’

‘Count on it,’ Shaw replied, a smirk returning to his face. ‘After all, Charlie misses me if I’m gone too long.’

‘Yes,’ Emma said sweetly. ‘Most of our Clients think so, as well.’

Shaw’s expression flickered for a moment but he quickly covered it with a charming smile. He knew when it was time to retreat.

‘It’s been delightful as always, Emma,’ he drawled, offering her a mocking bow as he slowly moved towards the door. ‘I’m sure that our next meeting will be just as … scintillating. Until next time …’

He offered her one last smirk before he turned and left.

Emma stood tall and still, staring at the spot where Shaw had stood mere moments before, wondering what on earth she had done.

Then, slowly, she turned on her heel and made her way over to the far side of the room.

She needed a drink.


	15. Splinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik begins to worry about Raven's increasingly unpredictable behaviour.

Things were easier said than done, when it came to Raven. She had agreed to keep away from the investigation, yes, but that didn’t mean that she actually _did_. The revelation that Klaus Schmidt – that is to say, Sebastian Shaw – was the man behind the Dollhouse seemed to be something of a game-changer for her. Her promise to distance herself from things had now been all but swept clean from her mind. Instead, she approached the case with a new ferocity that startled even Erik in its aggressiveness, leaving him wary and unsure what to think. On the one hand, he was secretly pleased to have Raven with him still; but on the other, he had wanted her to stay away for a _reason_. Raven, unfortunately, didn’t seem to get this, and simply ignored him whenever he tried to remind her of her promise and instead immersed herself even deeper into the investigation.

It was shortly after one of these failed attempts at dissuasion that Raven came upon something that sent her into a storm of hissing, seething fury.

‘I can’t believe it!’ she raged for the third time in as many minutes, striding up and down the room with her fists clenched and her eyes wild, ‘He was _here_! Sebastian Shaw was in town for almost two whole days and we _missed _him!’__

Erik watched her pace about, trying to ignore the throbbing in his temples.

‘Raven,’ he sighed, rubbing tiredly at his forehead, ‘I don’t know _how_ exactly you discovered Sebastian Shaw’s schedule – and before you start, I’m not sure I actually _want_ to know – but didn’t we both agree that from now on you would keep _out_ of Dollhouse business?’

Raven paused in her ranting to throw him an exasperated, almost scornful glance. 

‘That was _weeks_ ago-’

‘Week. _One_ week.’

‘Whatever,’ she rolled her eyes impatiently and shook her head before striding up to him and fixing him with a wild expression. ‘Do you seriously not understand what this _means_?’

Erik took in her frenzied, over-excited state, his own expression cool and emotionless.

‘No, Raven,’ he said calmly, ‘I don’t. What does it mean?’

‘It means …’ Raven trailed off and her face suddenly paled. For a moment Erik almost thought that she might collapse, she looked so frail and despairing. Then, like a switch had been flipped, her eyes flashed and one of those odd, violent blazes of rage overtook her, her fragility from moments before a mere memory. ‘It means that he was here for a _reason_ ,’ she hissed. ‘And that reason was the _Dollhouse_ and that means that he-’ her eyes trailed across the room before coming to rest on the picture of the smiling Charles Xavier and once again that almost despairing look came over her face. She closed her eyes and shook her head, swallowing. ‘… And that means we don’t know when he will return or when our next chance will be,’ she finished bleakly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. 

Erik watched her closely before his own eyes followed her gaze to the picture on the wall. He grimaced.

‘Raven,’ he said tiredly, ‘I know how you feel but we have to be patient. It will be okay – it’s not like we won’t have other chances. Shaw’s bound to return at some point -’

‘Oh I have no doubt about that!’ Raven interrupted him with a snarl, her lips curled up into a vicious sneer, ‘That sick, sadistic _bastard_.’ She let out a harsh breath before calming down abruptly, crossing her arms in front of her and fixing Erik with a penetrating stare. ‘But what if he _doesn’t_ return soon? God knows what that fucker does behind closed doors, but he’s a busy guy. What will we do then? I mean, _who knows_ when he’ll return? It might be _months_ for all we know.’

‘Then it will be months,’ Erik answered calmly. He returned Raven’s look with an even one of his own. ‘I know you are eager to bring this to a swift conclusion but think about it: what would we do if we _did_ confront Shaw? We have nothing on him, Raven. Nothing. At least, nothing that’s tangible. Don’t forget that he is an extraordinarily clever man who is highly proficient at covering his tracks. I’m sorry, Raven, but even if he stayed here for the next week or two – we are simply not ready. And until we are, it’s best not to show our hand.’

Raven didn’t like hearing that. She didn’t like it at all. She snarled at this announcement and all but kicked at the chair next to her.

‘Then what’s the fucking _point_?’ she growled, looking more frustrated than Erik had ever seen her, even whilst in one of her worst moods. ‘If we – if the goddamn _police_ – can’t stop that motherfucker then what’s the fucking point of doing this? Why do I even _bother_?’

Erik gritted his teeth. As someone with a very short fuse himself, he understood just how tiresome police work could normally be. And with this case in particular … his eyes once again wandered over to the picture on the wall and he swallowed tightly, his fists clenching. It was a fight to keep himself from lashing out in frustration like Raven, but he just about managed to restrain himself.

‘You bother because you’re a good person,’ he said steadily, taking great care to keep the tension and impatience that thrummed deeply inside him out of his voice. ‘You’re a good person who cares about the people that have been wronged by Shaw, and you want to help them. You want Shaw to be stopped before he can hurt anyone else ever again.’

Raven didn’t look at him. She was instead gazing at the picture of Charles, her mouth twisted and her expression surprisingly bitter.

‘Oh, if only you knew,’ she said softly, her voice filled with pain and self-loathing. Erik frowned at that and made a movement towards her, causing her head to snap up. She eyed him then with a curious mix of emotions in her eyes before shaking her head. ‘Why do I even bother?’ she muttered again, before turning around and stalking away, leaving Erik staring after her.

*****

This rather set the tone for the rest of Raven’s behaviour from then on. She had never been the most stable of individuals, but, following this incident, her behaviour was frankly disquieting. 

Although he never said anything, Erik was growing increasingly concerned about her. He was, by now, relatively sure that Raven had some sort of mental condition – if he had to guess, he would have said that she was bipolar – but he had never been able to bring himself to say anything to her. He had once or twice seen her covertly take some sort of medication, so he was reasonably certain that she was probably on a prescription of some kind, although he had taken the time to rule out the possibility that she was a drug addict. He had given serious thought to this; after all, Raven frequently exhibited such symptoms as violent mood swings and paranoia, and her secretive use of pills did not help the equation. He had eventually rejected this diagnosis, however; Raven was as bright and quick-witted as anyone, and perhaps, sharper than most. Furthermore, her changes in mood, while unpredictable, could almost always be traced back to a trigger, although Erik could never fully put his finger on what these triggers were. All he knew was that, 99% of the time, they were linked to the Dollhouse.

Raven’s opinion of the case also seemed to waver even more wildly than normal. Sometimes she would be eager about it, enthusiastic almost to the point where it seemed that her obsession would overtake Erik’s. And then, suddenly, she would do an about-turn and dismiss it completely, glaring resentfully at the walls covered in research and snarling at Erik’s questions.

The worst of it, however, was when she took to mocking his efforts.

‘It’s useless, you know,’ she sometimes taunted him when in such a mood, her lip curled up into a sneer. ‘You won’t find them. The Dollhouse, I mean. All this time, all this wasted effort – and for what? Some random guy you don’t even know?’

Erik would just grit his teeth and force himself to wait these moods out. She would apologise afterwards, of course, and they would make up, and most of the time, her words would be all but forgotten by the both of them.

Sometimes, though, her words could really sting.

It was late, and the two of them had just spent the entire day trying to fruitlessly track down the last name on the list of six that had arrived with the second anonymous envelope. It had been at Raven’s urging that they had taken a break from digging into Shaw, and had returned to the last name on the list in the hopes that they would have better luck than last time. This hope had turned out to be overly optimistic, however, and as the day went by, Raven’s mood had grown gradually blacker, her initially cheery comments quickly being reduced to monosyllabic grunts and then complete silence.

It was only when Raven opened her mouth that Erik realised how much he would have actually preferred the silence.

‘It makes me laugh,’ she started abruptly, breaking the quiet peace of Erik’s apartment and tearing his attention away from the files in his hand, ‘to think what it is that goes on in your head. About Charles, I mean.’

Erik immediately tensed. They didn’t talk much about Charles Xavier, even though he was quite certain that Raven was well aware of his quiet infatuation with the man. It was as if there was an unacknowledged agreement between the two of them that the subject was off-limits. At least, there had been until now.

She wasn’t wrong, though: it would be a lie to say that Charles Xavier wasn’t almost constantly on Erik’s mind. He refused to admit as much, however, especially not now with Raven in one of her malice-filled moods. And so he maintained a stony silence and kept his eyes on his work, even as all of his attention was now focused solely on the girl in front of him.

‘No, really,’ Raven was saying, sprawled out over an armchair with a restless gleam in her eye as she stared at him. ‘It’s actually kind of hilarious. Well,’ she amended after a moment, ‘ _pathetic_. It’s more _pathetic_ than anything else.’

Erik continued to ignore her, although his jaw was set tight and his fists were now clenched. He knew that Raven was trying to draw his ire, trying to provoke him, and he refused to give her the satisfaction.

‘What do you imagine, Erik?’ Raven continued, her tone almost pleasant and conversational, ‘About how it’s going to go? Go on, tell me – I’m genuinely interested. What _do_ you think will happen?’

Erik didn’t answer, his lips pressed tightly together.

Raven hummed and cocked her head, eyeing him patiently.

‘I’ll tell you what _I_ think you imagine will happen, then,’ she said easily, and Erik’s head shot up before he could stop it, and he braced himself for her next words.

‘What you think will happen is this: you think that you’re going to be some sort of _hero_ ,’ Raven said, and suddenly the lightness of her tone was gone and instead replaced with spite. ‘You think you are going to march up to the Dollhouse and break the doors down, and Charles will swoon and fall into your arms, and everything will be fan-fucking-tastic.’

This fantasy unfortunately hit just a little bit too close to home for Erik, who for the first time was unable to remain cool and indifferent in the face of her taunts. Instead, he found himself sitting bolt upright and glaring at Raven, unable to stop himself from feeling both slightly betrayed and not a little resentful.

‘And so what if it is?’ he snapped, feeling defensive. ‘What is it to you? It’s not any business of _yours_. What do _you_ care?’

Raven’s face became pale at that. She stared at Erik in silence, her eyes wide and round and full. And then, before Erik knew what was happening, she was suddenly on her feet, looming at his side and all but spitting at him. ‘Fuck you!’ she snarled. ‘You _and_ your fucking _perverted_ fixation with Charles! It’s _pathetic_!’ she hissed venomously. ‘Do you really think he will care who you are? Do you really think he’ll know you?’ She laughed. ‘He’s a freaking _Doll_ , Erik – he doesn’t even know his own fucking name!’

Erik clenched his fists and forced himself to keep cool, unwilling to let Raven know how deeply her words had cut him. ‘Drop it, Raven,’ he gritted out, trying to focus on the pages in his hand and refusing to meet her eyes. ‘Just stop it. You don’t know what the hell you are talking about.’

That just seemed to incense Raven even more.

‘The fuck I don’t!’ she screeched, tearing the papers out of his hand and throwing them away. ‘You think I don’t see it, but I do! You _want_ him! You’re _obsessed_ with him! You - you’re just like _him_! You’re just like _all_ of them! Jesus Christ, why don’t you just go down to the Dollhouse and freaking _pay_ for him? That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ she sneered. ‘You could have him exactly how you like, exactly how you’ve dreamed in all the fucked-up little fantasies that you have when you jerk off. And it won’t even be Charles, but you won’t care, because you’ll have fucked him and used him just like-’

Erik jerked to his feet, and the fury on his face was such that Raven’s voice faltered mid-rant.

Erik was fuming.

‘Get out,’ he said in a low, furious voice.

Raven stared at him and opened her mouth to argue, but Erik interrupted before she could.

‘I said _get out_.’

Raven looked at him, wide-eyed for a moment, before walking to the door. She paused at the doorway, however, and turned back, a look of guilt and remorse on her face.

‘Erik …’ she said in a small voice.

Erik shook his head.

‘Not now, Raven,’ he said tightly. ‘I know you didn’t really mean it and I know that this gets to you, but not now. Right now I am too angry to stand the sight of you, so I really need you to get out before I do something that I’ll regret.’

Raven swallowed and nodded. Then, with a quiet ‘ _I’m sorry,_ ’ she slipped out the door and shut it silently behind her.

Once she was gone Erik immediately slumped back into his chair and closed his eyes.

_Fuck_ , he thought.

And that pretty much summed things up.


	16. Interlude II - Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan waits for Charles to return from a joint-assignment.

Logan shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the van, painfully aware of the person next to him. He’d been on joint assignments before, of course, but it didn’t mean that he liked having to share his space with another Handler any more than he had to. Not that Kevin was a bad guy, or anything; despite his odd sense of humour, Logan probably got along with him best out of all the other Handlers. While this could have been due to the strange compatibility of their individual personalities, it was much more likely that it was an inevitability borne of their being thrown together so often; the combination of their respective Actives seemed to be a very popular one.

‘How’s Havok been doing?’ Logan asked gruffly when the impatience of waiting for the Assignment to end got to be too much for even him to bear.

Havok’s handler, Kevin, looked up at that, a smirk clearly visible on his face.

‘You just asking or do you really want to know?’ he asked.

Logan scowled, causing the other man to laugh. It was an odd little laugh, more akin to that of a cackling witch than of a grown man, as Logan was all too willing to tell him every time they came together.

‘He’s fine,’ Kevin said cheerily, either assuming or just not caring whether Logan was indeed interested. ‘He’s healthy and happy and content, just like always. Just like _all_ of them. I mean – they’re _Dolls_. These guys aren’t exactly hard to look after, you know.’

Logan let out a non-committal grunt at that. Maybe it was because of Charles, or maybe it was just him, but ‘easy’ wasn’t a word that he would have used to describe this gig.

Perhaps the other Handler sensed this for he relented after a minute.

‘Havok’s good,’ he said, nodding to himself. ‘No problems or weird Clients, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Logan let out a snort.

‘Dunno about that,’ he muttered. ‘I’d say that _all_ our Clients are a pretty screwed-up bunch, if you’d ask me.’

Kevin grinned at that.

‘I guess you’re right,’ he said with a laugh. He nodded over at the house they were surveying, the one into which both of their Actives had disappeared. ‘What do you reckon the one in there’s like?’

Logan tilted his head thoughtfully, one of his hands toying with an unlit cigar.

‘Lady by the name of Johnson, McCoy said,’ he mused, before shrugging carelessly. ‘Probably some delusional old broad who wanted to have two pretty young things fightin’ over her.’ He paused, before adding as if in an afterthought, ‘And then a threesome.’

Kevin let out a high-pitched bark of laughter. ‘Amazing. You could be a profiler for the Feds,’ he joked.

Logan grunted humourlessly.

‘Dunno ‘bout that, bub,’ he said gruffly, ‘It ain’t too difficult. These assignments don’t really stray far from the basics, if you get me.’

Kevin nodded. ‘Can’t beat the basics,’ he said wryly, before giving a mock shudder. ‘All the same, rather them than me. At least the Dolls can forget about it later.’

But Logan shook his head.

‘Doesn’t make it any better,’ he said grimly, glaring at the house with thinly-veiled dislike. ‘Can’t say if it makes it worse or not, but it sure as hell doesn’t make it better.’

Kevin nodded contritely at that, and for a moment they sank into a sort of silence. Kevin, however, was never one to be quiet for long.

‘Have you noticed they’ve beefed up security?’ he casually asked Logan after a moment. ‘They’ve brought more guards in from somewhere or the other and they’ve been installing more cameras. Did you notice?’

As Logan would have had to have been a _very_ poor member of the security team to have _not_ noticed, he said nothing and merely gave Kevin an unimpressed look.

‘Yeah,’ Kevin said, ignoring Logan’s expression, ‘Victor Creed came and talked to us about it. Well. I _say_ “talked about it”. He actually just came in and told us that they were bringing more guys in and that he had better not hear us whining about it. Was very particular about it, too. “Mr Sydney,” he says, “There’ll be no whining from you about this.” Not a lot a guy can say to that.’

Logan smirked. He had been on the receiving end of more than one of Creed’s talks. He couldn’t say that he had any real love for the Dollhouse Head of Security, but Logan couldn’t deny that the man was annoyingly competent.

‘I thought it was just a temporary thing, at first,’ Kevin was saying, his nasally voice strangely soothing to Logan’s ears, ‘I mean, I only thought it would last for one or two days, to coincide with Shaw’s visit and everything, but-’

He was cut off by Logan suddenly swinging around and fixing him with a sharp look.

‘ _What_ did you say?’ Logan growled, his eyes narrowed and his teeth bared.

Kevin stared at him in surprise.

‘I – Shaw,’ he said slowly, ‘I thought that the security was for Shaw.’

‘When was Shaw here?’ Logan demanded, ‘How long ago?’

‘Just – I don’t know – what? Two days ago?’

Logan let out a growl and Kevin eyed him curiously. 

‘What’s got you all riled up? Shaw owe you money or something?’ he joked even as he scrutinised Logan’s face intently.

‘Or something,’ Logan grunted, feeling angry and unhappy. Two days ago. Charlie had had an appointment two days ago, one that had lasted for over twenty-four hours and where Logan hadn’t been allowed to monitor the proceedings as was normal protocol. He had suspected at the time, naturally – of course he had, he wasn’t stupid, whatever anyone said – but to have it confirmed …

Kevin shifted in his seat and Logan belatedly realised that he had been growling angrily under his breath. He quickly came to and composed himself, trying to avoid Sydney’s curious gaze.

‘What was he here for?’ he asked gruffly, trying to pull Kevin’s attention away from himself.

Kevin cast him an odd look but he willingly went along with it and started saying something about the quarterly check and general overview that Shaw came in to do every few months.

‘And of course, he makes sure that there’s nothing going on that shouldn’t be going on,’ Kevin continued knowledgably, glancing up at Logan when the other man let out a derisive snort. ‘I know, what’s _he_ going to find that Miss Frost won’t have already, right? But you’d be surprised.’ He gave Logan a significant look. ‘The last time something major happened it was Shaw who rooted it out. Oh yeah,’ he said with a smug look as Logan glanced up, ‘Now you’re interested, aren’t you?’

‘What happened?’ Logan asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

Kevin grinned and sidled closer in his seat.

‘Let’s see,’ he said, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘I was in charge of Pyro at the time – they gave him to Drake shortly after that, I believe; something about compatibility, I think they said-’

‘Get on with it,’ Logan grumbled. The number of Actives that passed through Kevin’s hands was almost legendary. He had even been nicknamed ‘Morph’ due to the way that one of his Active morphed into another by the time of the Dollhouse’s annual review; at least, that’s why Logan had always assumed he’d got the nickname. He’d never really bothered to ask.

‘Right. So anyway – there was a lot of confusion and I was only really just starting out back then so no one would really tell me what was going on, but whatever it was, it was definitely messed up. I mean, there was _definitely_ something freaky going on.’

Logan waited for Kevin to continue.

‘…And?’ he asked impatiently when the other showed no signs of continuing.

Kevin looked pleased by Logan’s interest.

‘ _And_ it ended with a whole bunch of people being sacked,’ he said with apparent relish. ‘And then it came out that it was one of the Doctors who was at the head of it all, and that his screwing around had led to some _epically messed up_ shit.’ He gave Logan a meaningful look.

Logan stared back, unimpressed.

‘Epically … messed up … shit,’ he repeated slowly. He let out a sigh and rubbed his head. ‘Jesus, Morph, could you maybe be a little more specific?’

Kevin smirked.

‘Sorry, that’s all I have. The details are way above my pay-grade,’ he said, smirk widening at Logan’s irritated growl. ‘But hey, if you _really_ wanna know more, ask McCoy. He was there the whole time. In fact, he was one of the few people who came out on top from that shitfest.’

Logan was silent for a moment. 

‘McCoy?’ he repeated slowly, ‘The Programmer?’

‘The one and only,’ Kevin said cheerfully.

Logan subsided into silence, the wrinkle on his forehead the only sign that his mind was still focused on Kevin’s words.

Just then, the timer on the van’s dashboard went off, breaking Logan out of his reverie and signalling that their Client’s time was up. Eager to return Charlie to the safety of his protection, Logan quickly shook away all other thoughts and sat up in his seat.

‘Come on, Morph,’ he said, clapping a powerful hand on the man’s shoulder, causing him to wince. ‘We’d better get moving. It’s time to pick up the kids.’

Kevin grimaced and rubbed at his shoulder.

‘Coming, dear,’ he said with a sigh, before following Logan out of the van.


	17. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Raven finally reconcile.

Erik didn’t see Raven again until almost a week later. 

This was something of a deliberate move on his part. Raven had been thoroughly remorseful in the days following her outburst; the cold, malicious side of her having apparently fled in the face of Erik’s ire and her own burgeoning guilt. She had managed to stay away for almost an entire day before returning to Erik’s door, tail between her legs and heart full of contrition. Erik was vaguely impressed that she had managed to stay away for so long, but still he did not open his door to her; the things she had said whilst in her mood had, despite his best efforts, cut him to the quick and left him full of self-doubt. Was he like the people who visited the Dollhouse? Was he just as bad as they were for feeling as much as he did for Charles?

He would often catch himself thinking this way and when he did, his anger at Raven came flooding back and any sympathy he had for her dried up. He didn’t care that Raven was sorry; he didn’t care that she had problems and issues. He was angry at her, and he would damn well _stay_ angry at her until such a time as he felt ready to forgive her.

Besides, he thought grimly, it was better this way. With Raven no longer welcome into his home, she had no way of delving into the Dollhouse investigation. In this way she was finally fulfilling her promise to keep away from the case, albeit unwillingly. Keeping her distance from the Dollhouse and all things related to it would do her good, Erik was sure of it. Not only would she remain safe from unfriendly attention, but she wouldn’t be wound up so tightly all the time. Erik didn’t know what sort of problems Raven had, but it was easy to see that the investigation into the Dollhouse affected her a lot more than she would have cared to admit. Keeping her away from the case could only benefit her.

And so it was that Erik ignored her knocking and her pleading and her messages, and only left the building at ridiculously early hours when he was sure that Raven would be fast asleep, or otherwise not at all. He was met with success for five long days; on the sixth, however, Raven finally caught up with him.

It was early morning, the sun only tentatively peeking out at the world below, and Erik had just finished his morning jog, feeling tired and sweaty and pleasantly sore. He grunted as he pushed himself up the stairs, his gaze lowered as he took the steps two at a time, and so it was that he didn’t see Raven until she cleared her throat, alerting him to her presence. Erik turned his head sharply even as he angrily kicked himself for not being better aware of his surroundings; next time it might not be a friend waiting for him in a dark corner.

‘Hello,’ Raven said in a small voice.

She was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase to the next floor; if she hadn’t cleared her throat, Erik would have walked right past her in his desire to reach the door to his flat. The window at the end of their corridor threw some light on main hallway, but the stairwell where Raven was sitting was shrouded in darkness and she hadn’t bothered to turn on the light.

Erik hesitated. He was still angry at her, yes, but he had cooled down somewhat in the intervening days and he had found that he missed her. However, while he was not averse to making up with Raven, he couldn’t say that she had chosen a particularly good time to collar him; he was tired out from his run and he wanted nothing better than to go home and take a nice long shower.

As if on cue, Raven spoke.

‘I know that this isn’t the best time,’ she said calmly, ‘But you hardly leave your apartment and you don’t open the door to me, so I didn’t know how else to catch you.’

Erik paused before dipping his head in a short nod.

‘It’s all right,’ he said cautiously, moving around so that he could face her fully while he leaned his back against the wall. He tilted his head and frowned, trying to see her properly through the gloom that surrounded her. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked uncertainly. ‘Only you look … tired.’

Raven did indeed, from what little he could see of her, look exhausted, with her usually voluminous golden hair now lank and the circles under her eyes dark and puffy. She smiled at his observation though, and gave him a wry look.

‘What can I say?’ she said dryly, ‘You keep ridiculous hours.’

Erik smiled at that, despite himself. This, however, seemed to bring Raven back to herself as her own smile slowly faded from her face. 

‘It’s not that, of course,’ she said quietly. ‘Well – not _just_ that, at any rate. It’s more. I’ve been … thinking. A lot. About a lot of things.’ She looked up and brought her eyes to meet Erik’s unflinchingly. ‘What I said to you that day – it was wrong of me. So, so wrong. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I said those things of you. I know-’ she swallowed, ‘-I know that you are nothing like those sick, twisted bastards at the Dollhouse. I _know_ it. But I just – I was angry and frustrated and you’d never stopped me any of the other times that I was being a bitch so I pushed, and I pushed and I …’ she trailed off. ‘And I nearly lost you,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I pushed you and I hurt you and I almost lost you. It’s what I do,’ she said quietly. ‘I push too far and too hard. If people don’t stop me – don’t give me boundaries – then I take advantage of it and end up screwing things up.’ She made a face of pained amusement. ‘“Giving me enough rope to hang myself”, my brother called it.’

Erik watched in silence as Raven’s face screwed up in misery and he let out a mental sigh. Raven had said some awful things, it was true, but perhaps he had been too rash in condemning her. She was only a child, after all, and against all reason and logic she had forged something of a bond with him. His ignoring her … well, she seemed to have taken it badly, from the looks of things. Most people would have called Erik cold and unfeeling, but at that moment he couldn’t summon up the will or the inclination to turn away from the miserable creature on the stairs.

Sighing, he pushed the sweat-slicked hair away from his forehead before fixing Raven with an even look.

‘I won’t pretend to have been happy with the things you said that night,’ he said bluntly. ‘You’re right, you pushed and you went too far, and there are consequences because of that.’ He paused as Raven let out a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, before meeting her eyes. ‘But – I forgive you.’ Through the darkness he could see Raven’s blue eyes widening in surprise and he snorted softly. ‘You’re not the only one with a horrible temper,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘Nor are you the only one to have said things in the heat of the moment that you later regret. There is a reason that I lack for friends, as you so frequently remind me.’

Raven winced slightly even as a tentative smile played on the end of her lips.

‘Just-’ Erik ran his hand through his hair again and sighed, tired, ‘Just don’t do it again. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Raven readily agreed, the relief clearly apparent in her voice.

Erik nodded at that. 

‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s that then.’ He then turned towards his apartment door, eager to wash the morning’s sweat and dirt off his skin.

‘Erik – wait.’

He paused, wavering for a moment before turning back around. Raven’s features were still in the dark so he could not make out the expression on her face, but when she spoke her voice was low and hesitant.

‘Erik,’ she said quietly. ‘Please don’t be angry with me, but – about Charles …’

Erik immediately stiffened.

‘Yes?’ he asked, unable to keep a hint of coldness from entering his voice.

Raven visibly winced but she doggedly continued.

‘Please don’t think that I … I don’t mean to hurt you – again,’ she said quickly, her words tripping over each other. She seemed unaccountably nervous, her placidity of moments ago replaced with an odd feverishness that immediately put Erik on his guard. ‘But I want – I _need_ to know: _why_?’

Erik’s eyebrows lowered together.

‘Why what?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Why do you _care_?’ Raven burst out, sounding baffled and frustrated. ‘What is it about him? What makes him so special? You’ve known that Magda woman for _years_ and yet when you talk about rescuing them it’s _him_ you’re really talking about, it’s _his_ picture that you always look at – and I want to know _why_! Why do you care about him, what do you _want_ with him?’

Erik stared at her.

‘Nothing,’ he said blankly. ‘I want nothing from him.’

He couldn’t see her face, but even so he could clearly tell that Raven’s expression was one of scepticism.

‘Nothing,’ she repeated flatly. ‘You want … nothing.’

Erik grimaced at her disbelieving tone and looked away.

‘Okay, so that might not be completely true,’ he admitted, looking down at his feet. His stomach twisted slightly as he gathered the right words together in his head. He didn’t know why he was doing it but he felt that he needed to share this with Raven; that he needed to make her understand. ‘I just … I want him to smile at me,’ he said at last, feeling hopelessly stupid and soppy and ridiculous. He swallowed, but now that he had started he found himself unable to do anything but carry on. ‘I want him to smile at me the way he’s smiling in the picture. I want him to say my name and for him to _know_ me, and for me to know him in return. I want him to be free. I want … that.’

He gritted his teeth together in the expectation of laughter or a scornful remark. He was therefore surprised when he heard nothing of the kind; instead, he was met with silence, the only sound that of Raven’s slightly elevated breathing and his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

It was a moment before Raven spoke.

‘You’re in love with him,’ she said in an odd voice, her expression still hidden by the shadows on the stairs. ‘I didn’t believe it – not at first. But you’re really in love with him. You don’t even know him, but you love him.’

Erik just stood there, silent.

‘Christ,’ Raven whispered to herself, a movement in the darkness showing her to have dug her fingers into her hair. ‘Christ. You poor bastard.’ She swallowed and looked up at Erik, a ray of light throwing her face into relief. ‘Do you even know what you are letting yourself in for?’

Erik frowned. 

‘I think I can guess,’ he said, rather stiffly.

But Raven let out a hollow laugh.

‘No, Erik,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘No, you really can’t. And the fact that you know and love him despite his being completely unaware of your existence is the least of it.’

Erik didn’t say anything.

‘Suppose we do it,’ Raven said suddenly, her eyes fixed on his. ‘Suppose we _do_ manage to find him and liberate him from the Dollhouse. Let’s say that we get in there and miraculously manage to reset his mind and bring him out unscathed and the Dollhouse let us walk. What then?’ She ploughed on in the face of Erik’s uncomprehending look. ‘What if he has family? What if he has a lover? What if he’s _straight_?’

‘I …’ Erik started but he couldn’t continue. He didn’t know how.

‘Let’s go further,’ Raven said insistently. ‘Let’s say that he doesn’t have any family or any sort of past that he wants to go back to. Let’s say that the two of you … _get together_ , as such. Would you want him then?’

Erik stared at her.

‘Well,’ he stumbled out, ‘of course I would want-’

‘But _would_ you?’ Raven said, and her expression was filled with intensity. ‘What if it’s just the chase that you like? The _quest_? Or worse,’ she whispered. ‘What if it’s not _Charles_ you love, but the image in your head that you have of him? What if you meet him and he’s not the sweet, wonderful man that you know and love, but something else, something that – that disappoints you?’

Erik was watching Raven closely now, his eyes intent on hers.

‘It wouldn’t matter,’ he said softly, and Raven’s eyes flew up to his. ‘Whatever I feel – or don’t feel, for that matter – it won’t matter. Charles has no idea who I am. He’s never met me. He won’t care either way.’

‘But what about _you_?’ Raven persisted, almost desperately. ‘What if you meet him and he’s nothing like what you thought he was and your view of him is tarnished forever?’ She swallowed. ‘What if, when you sat down and thought about it, you started to think that all these years – all this time that you spent hunting and searching, _sacrificing_ so goddamn much … what if you felt that-’ she swallowed, ‘-that it wasn’t worth it?’ Her voice lowered to a barely audible whisper. ‘That _you_ weren’t worth it?’

Erik was looking at her now, and he could tell that he was missing a very large piece of the puzzle.

‘Raven,’ he said slowly, taking a step closer to her. ‘Raven, what is this? What are we talking about?’

Raven looked up at him with red, tear-filled eyes.

‘It’s all my fault,’ she choked out, tears finally falling. ‘He’s in there, he’s being made to do god knows what, and it’s all my fault!’ She gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. ‘My Charles, my poor, poor Charles!’

‘Raven!’ and then Erik’s hands were on her shoulders and he was clutching her tight, his eyes fierce and his expression taut. ‘Raven, what do you mean? What are you saying? Who is Charles to you?’

And Raven looked up at him through, large, puffy eyes.

‘My brother,’ she said at last, tears falling from her eyes. ‘Charles Xavier is my brother, and I am the reason that he’s in the Dollhouse.’


	18. Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles tries to find his sister.
> 
> Takes place a few months after 'Rewind'.

_Three years and two months ago,_

Things were not looking good for Dr. Charles Xavier, lauded Professor of Genetics and heir to the Xavier family fortune.

His sister, Raven, had gone missing over four months before – four long, cruel months in which Charles had spent every second of his time looking for her, talking to the police and hiring investigators to find her. None of these routes had yielded any results, however; the police couldn’t seem to find any trace of Raven, and the general consensus was that she had either run away or had been kidnapped whilst out on the streets. While the latter was certainly possible, Charles had been adamant about the first; although it was not unlike Raven to flee from home every once in a while, she had never been gone for more than a week. Furthermore, the time immediately preceding her disappearance had been calm and – dare he say it – happy. Raven had only ever run away from home when desiring to make a statement, after having argued loudly and thoroughly (and unsuccessfully) with Charles beforehand. That had not happened in this case; the house had been positively peaceful and Raven had shown no signs of dissatisfaction. 

At least, not with _him_.

Charles hadn’t recalled this fact immediately. It was only later, after the police reports began to peter out and his meetings with his private investigators became few and far between, that Charles, driven almost mad with fear and frustration, finally remembered his and Raven’s conversation about Sebastian Shaw. And that was when it hit him.

He hadn’t given much thought to his encounter with Shaw following their meeting but it was clear that Raven had. He had found a number of notes and articles in her bedroom that he’d never given much thought to before, all of which seemed to indicate an interest in the Shaw Foundation. Even her words from shortly before her disappearance began to strike him differently now; where before they had been relatively unimportant words from one of their many conversations, now they were clues; pieces of information that pointed in a big, flashing arrow-mark in the direction of his sister.

It was really quite obvious, now that he saw it. He didn’t know why he hadn’t before. With Raven’s angry words and passionate denouncements of the company, as well as his own personal knowledge of what his sister was like, it only added up to one thing: somehow, someway, Sebastian Shaw or his minions at the Shaw Foundation were responsible for his sister’s disappearance.

This fresh angle gave him a new surge of hope and a renewed determination to find out the truth. Unfortunately, the police didn’t seem to feel the same. They became very shifty once the Shaw name was mentioned, and several told him point blank that he was looking in the wrong direction and that he ought to leave the detective-work to the actual detectives. Realising that he was hitting a stone wall, Charles had then turned to his private investigators, only to have several of them reject the case outright and for the rest to return a week or two later, either claiming that they had hit dead ends or offering to return his money to him. 

This all but cemented it for Charles. Raven had been right: there was definitely something dodgy about the Shaw Foundation. 

This only motivated him to work even harder. He tried everything he could. He used whatever money he had and whatever influence the Xavier name would give him, but even so he still couldn’t get close. Everywhere he turned he was met with walls and stony silence and it was driving him to his wits end.

And then he got a phone call from Sebastian Shaw.

Charles had not been expecting it. His encounter with Shaw had been quite far from his mind, for all that he was trying to expose the man and his undoubtedly illegitimate dealings. And so when he’d answered the phone it had been in a state of distraction, torn between hoping that the call heralded news of his sister and the desire to go back to his own search.

‘Hello?’ he asked tiredly.

‘Charlie boy!’

The sound of the voice on the other end of the phone – not to mention the name used – caused Charles to almost recoil for a moment before his wits returned to him. He swallowed, his heart suddenly beating double-time.

‘… Mr. Shaw?’ he asked hesitantly, cradling the telephone receiver close to his face.

‘You remembered my voice!’ Shaw sounded genuinely delighted. ‘I’m glad to see that I made as much of a powerful impression on you as you made on me!’

Charles tried to say something but his mind was blank. He quietly told himself to breath and tried to slow the pulse of panic that was spreading through his veins. Why was Shaw calling? It had been _months_ since they had last met. Had he found out that Charles was investigating him? Was he going to warn him to back off?

Charles nervously cleared his throat and forced himself to respond. 

‘Well, I suppose that you have a very ...’ he paused then and shook his head, unable to stop himself from prodding, ‘I’m sorry, but – can I ask you how you got my telephone number?’

A quiet laugh echoed down the phone.

‘Oh, my dear,’ Shaw said fondly, ‘It was hardly difficult. I only had to call up the Science Department at your university and they were all too eager to help.’

Charles went still at that. The university was strictly forbidden to give away any such personal details without applying for permission first. Apparently Sebastian Shaw was not a man to whom the normal rules applied.

‘So, Charlie,’ Shaw continued as if oblivious to Charles’s inner turmoil, his voice all but oozing out of the phone, ‘I’ve been thinking …’

Charles’s grip on the phone tightened, his hands clammy. This was it, he thought. He’s going to tell me about Raven. He’s going to tell me that he has her and that her life is in his hands. He’s going to tell me –

‘… that we ought to meet for dinner.’

Charles blinked.

‘I’m sorry?’ he asked uncertainly.

‘Dinner,’ Shaw repeated crisply. ‘I think that we ought to see each other, don’t you think?’

Charles swallowed.

_Raven,_ he thought desperately. _He has Raven and he wants to come to some sort of deal with me to ensure her safe return._

His fortitude restored, Charles clutched the receiver tightly to his cheek and let out a slow breath.

‘Yes,’ he said in a voice that revealed nothing of his fraught nerves or apprehension. ‘Yes, I think that is a very good idea.’

‘Excellent!’ Shaw said immediately, sounding pleased. ‘Is tomorrow night all right with you?’

‘How about tonight instead?’ Charles asked quickly. He wanted to get Raven back as soon as possible, after all.

Shaw made a delighted noise over the phone.

‘Even better,’ he murmured, ‘Shall we say tonight at eight?’

‘Eight sounds good,’ Charles answered faintly.

‘Excellent,’ Shaw’s voice was infused with a sense of smug pleasure. ‘I will pick you up then. See you soon, Charlie.’ And with that Shaw hung up, leaving Charles holding onto the receiver of his phone, feeling numb inside. It hadn’t skipped his notice that Shaw hadn’t asked for an address; likely the idiots down at the university office had thrown that in along with his telephone number. 

He sighed and, dropping the phone back into its cradle, brought his hands up to rub at his eyes. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and hug his pillows close, but he knew that he couldn’t afford to do so. Eight o’ clock wasn’t all that far off and Charles had things to do before then; he had to clean up, take a shower and get dressed, and more importantly, call his bank in preparation of the quick withdrawal of funds. He was under no illusions that this was an innocent dinner; no, this was a thinly-veiled attempt at extortion and had there been anything else at stake, then Charles would have summarily stuck two fingers up at Shaw and told him to kindly bugger off before he called the police. With Raven though … he shook his head. Raven took precedence over everything: his anger, his money, his pride, and even common justice.

So he would meet Shaw, and he would do whatever it took to get Raven back, even if it meant draining every single one of his bank accounts in order to do so.

Time passed far too quickly and before he knew it, eight o’clock had come by, bringing with it a knock on the door of his apartment and causing Charles to freeze in place like a scared deer. A moment later he had recovered his poise and had moved over to open the door. Instead of seeing Shaw, however, there was a strange man there who nodded at him before stepping to the side, wordlessly inviting Charles to follow him. Charles was momentarily struck with an instinctive sense of overwhelming fear, but then he thought of Raven and he steeled himself once more. With a return nod at the man, he straightened his spine and followed him out of the door.

They were met at the front of the building by a sleek, long black limousine, and standing in front of it was –

‘Charlie!’ Shaw beamed at him, looking very neat and dapper in what was clearly a very expensive tuxedo. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Mr. Shaw,’ Charles said cautiously, holding out a hand for the man to shake. His eyes lingered almost anxiously on Shaw’s tuxedo and he found himself worrying that he, in his plain grey suit, would be underdressed for wherever Shaw chose to take them.

Shaw noticed Charles’s scrutiny for he smiled widely, his eyes gleaming as he returned the favour.

‘Now, now,’ he mock-scolded, his eyes tracing Charles up and down, ‘What have I said about you calling me that?’

Charles’s forced smile was more of a grimace.

‘Sorry,’ he said humbly, ‘I forgot … Sebastian.’

Shaw smiled before turning towards the car.

‘Shall we?’ he asked, holding the door open for Charles. 

Charles swallowed as he glanced down at the dark interior of the limo. Then, casting one last longing look back towards his apartment, he gave Shaw a weak smile and clambered in. Shaw climbed in immediately after him and, despite the seats being wide and spacious, decided to place himself close enough to Charles for their legs to brush. Charles gritted his teeth and casually edged away as best he could without drawing notice. He may have to spend time with Shaw, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it.

The car journey was spent with Charles smiling stiffly and listening as Shaw talked – mostly about himself. It was a tortuous journey, in some ways. Charles was bursting with nerves and impatience yet he couldn’t broach the subject just yet. Not so soon into the evening, before he could take Shaw’s measure and ensure that the man’s apparent goodwill wasn’t merely fleeting. Not with Raven’s life at risk. He would just have to play the game Shaw’s way, and if that meant being patient and listening while Shaw spouted nonsense all evening, then so be it.

Charles was subdued for the length of the journey, only opening his mouth to offer small noises of encouragement along the way. He remained so even after the car came to a stop and he was led into an upscale restaurant of the sort that even his mother would not have found anything to complain about. Not that Charles was even remotely surprised, of course. The Shaw Foundation had almost limitless wealth and, guessing by Shaw’s extracurricular activities, it wasn’t hard to see why. It did make Charles wonder, though, why exactly Shaw _needed_ to supplement his income in such a way, when he had such wealth to his name. Perhaps, Charles found himself thinking as he sat down in the chair that Shaw drew out for him, this wasn’t wholly about money after all. Maybe it was about something else. But, Charles thought, his blood running cold even as the sommelier poured him a glass of expensive red wine, if it wasn’t about money then what on earth was Shaw after …?

‘Good?’ Shaw’s voice broke through Charles’s thoughts.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes,’ Charles quickly sipped his drink and smiled weakly. ‘Splendid.’

‘It’s my favourite,’ Shaw confided with a roguish wink. ‘I always make sure that they keep a few bottles aside for me for when I’m in the country.’

‘Are you not here often, then?’ Charles asked, trying to appear natural.

Shaw smiled.

‘Not as much as I would like,’ he admitted, ‘But I’m sure that I could be persuaded to stop by more frequently.’ And his hand reached across the table to cover Charles’s.

_Oh dear,_ Charles thought. _Not this again._

‘Yes,’ he said instead, smiling tightly and gently but firmly extricating his hand from Shaw’s. ‘I suppose you could.’

Shaw all but pouted at him, but there was an amused gleam in his eye all the same. He watched Charles with an almost fond expression on his face as the waiter came and took their orders, his unwavering gaze causing Charles to stumble over his words a few times. It was only when their food had been served and the waiters gone that conversation resumed once more.

To Charles’s frustration, however, not a single word that left Shaw’s lips touched upon Raven.

‘I have this gorgeous villa in Italy,’ Shaw was saying, moving his arm out of the way as the waiters stealthily removed the plates from their now-finished starters. ‘It’s really the most charming little place – you really ought to see it, my dear boy, I’m sure you would think it divine …’

Charles tolerated this all the way through to the start of the main course, when he finally lost what little grasp he’d had on his otherwise inexhaustible patience.

‘Mr. Shaw-’ he began, cutting the other man off, ‘I mean, _Sebastian_ – I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but I can’t – it’s just – my sister!’ he burst out, unable to keep it all in. ‘I need to know about my sister.’

Shaw blinked.

‘Your … sister?’ he asked, frowning.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Charles said, feeling hugely relieved. ‘My sister, Raven.’

Shaw slowly put down his fork.

‘I’m afraid that I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, my boy,’ he said, frowning slightly. ‘And I have to say, I am quite astonished that you would bring up your _sister_ whilst at dinner, and in such a manner, too.’

Charles stared at the man opposite him, his mouth open.

‘But-’ he stammered, ‘ _Raven-_ ’

Shaw’s face darkened.

‘I will not have this dinner interrupted,’ he snapped, causing Charles to jump in his seat. Shaw’s face immediately cleared upon seeing this, and he instead smiled sweetly at Charles. ‘My apologies,’ he said smoothly. ‘Delighted as I would be to be introduced to your family, I would really much rather spend my time talking about _you_.’ He once again reached out to grasp Charles’s hand, but this time Charles was too quick for him and he easily evaded Shaw’s grasp, causing the other man to frown in mild irritation.

Charles was now feeling really quite confused and uneasy. He hadn’t even considered that this might happen; that Shaw might deny all knowledge of Raven’s existence and refuse to even talk about her. He swallowed, dread rising high in his chest, and bravely continued.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, refusing to be cowed by Shaw’s frown, ‘but I can’t just drop this. Raven is my sister – Raven Darkholme, is her name. She’s missing. Before she disappeared, she – I am _sure_ she was looking into the Shaw Foundation. I think – I think she might have broken into one of your facilities and has been missing ever since.’

Shaw was watching him now with an inscrutable expression. He was silent for a moment, taking the time to study Charles’s face.

‘I am afraid that I am unfamiliar with the name,’ he said at last, his voice cool and even. His tone was pleasant but there was a dark look in his eye. ‘But be assured, my boy, that I will be looking into this matter personally.’ He fixed Charles with a penetrating gaze. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, his eyes not moving away from Charles’s, ‘I will certainly be looking into it.’

For some reason this statement, rather than reassuring Charles, sent a ripple of anxiety through him.

‘Thank you,’ he managed to say, dipping his head at Shaw. ‘I very much appreciate it.’

Shaw, however, didn’t seem to be very much interested in Charles’s sense of gratitude.

‘So tell me, Charles,’ he said, picking up his glass of wine and taking a long, deep draught of it. ‘Just out of interest – why was it that you came here with me tonight?’

Charles looked surprised at the question and he eyed Shaw perplexedly, sure that there was some sort of minefield that he was about to walk into without his knowledge.

‘I – I thought it was about Raven,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I thought you had some information …’ He trailed off.

Shaw didn’t look happy at the answer, even though he seemed to have expected it. He took another swig of his drink, finishing it off, before signalling impatiently at a waiter to fill the glass back up, an order that was obeyed with remarkable alacrity. 

‘I see,’ he said, his voice even. ‘You came for your sister.’

Charles, keeping otherwise very still, nodded.

‘Hmm,’ Shaw looked broodingly down into his newly-replenished glass. ‘So to you, this was a – a _business_ meeting.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

Charles swallowed.

‘I – yes,’ he said, trying to cover his apprehension with a smile. ‘I’m afraid that I thought – yes. That is correct.’

‘And if I had asked you to dine with me otherwise,’ Shaw asked, his eyes still on his wine, ‘Say, for _romantic_ purposes. Would you still have agreed?’

The blood drained from Charles’s cheeks, only to rush up again once more, as he was caught between feeling anxious and exceedingly uncomfortable. He hesitated, and that was more than enough to answer Shaw’s question.

‘I see,’ Shaw’s mouth twisted up into a harsh smile. ‘So that’s how it is.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Charles said immediately, his expression earnest. ‘I honestly didn’t realise what it was that-’

‘Haven’t I been clear?’ Shaw interrupted him, his voice cold. ‘Did you _really_ not understand the meaning of my overtures tonight?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Charles repeated helplessly. ‘But I-’

‘But you chose to deliberately lead me on,’ Shaw said, his voice suddenly silky smooth and dangerous. ‘You decided to flaunt yourself at me, tried to make a _fool_ of me-’

‘No!’ Charles protested hotly, his fear quickly receding in the face of his growing outrage. ‘That is _not_ what happened here!’

‘Oh yes,’ Shaw purred, ignoring Charles’s protests, his eyes hard and his voice venomous. ‘I know exactly what you were doing, my sweet little pet. You were playing with me, weren’t you? Dangling yourself in front of me like a cheap little _whore_ , only to pull back at the last minute and _laugh_ at me.’

Charles, almost white with rage and distress, couldn’t take any more. 

‘I believe that you and I are done here,’ he said coldly, even as his heart sank, knowing as he did that Raven’s life was probably in the hands of this very man. He rose from his seat and turned to look at Shaw. ‘I am sorry that you misconstrued my interest,’ he said coolly, ‘It was not at all my intention, and I am sorry that it affected you so very badly. I dislike parting on unfriendly terms, Mr. Shaw, so I shall try to forget that this evening ever happened. I sincerely hope that you try to do the same, and look upon me in a friendlier manner in the future.’ He nodded stiffly at Shaw, before pulling out his wallet from his pocket and placing a few notes on the table. ‘I will make my own way home,’ he said, before tucking his wallet back into his pocket and turning away. He had only made it a pace away when Shaw spoke.

‘I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for your sister,’ Shaw called, his tone once again genial and benevolent. Charles glanced back at him briefly and then quickly turned away, shuddering. Shaw’s anger seemed to have dissipated and its stead was something cold and calculating; a fire seemed to have suddenly lit up in those gleaming eyes and a cruel smile was pulling at his mouth. 

Charles shivered and quickly walked away. He couldn’t help feeling that, somehow, he had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

*****

The reality of the situation only struck him the next day. 

He had no idea how to get his sister back. His one promising lead had fallen through: Shaw had known nothing about Raven. His contacting Charles, it seemed, had been nothing but sheer coincidence.

And yet Charles could not shake the idea that the Shaw Foundation was _somehow_ involved in Raven’s disappearance. He _knew_ Raven, and he knew how passionately she had believed in the wrong-doing of the company. When Raven got such ideas into her head they were all but unshakeable, and she was not the kind of girl who would just sit at home and shake her head at it. She was the sort who would charge head-first into the melee, not caring what stood in her way and what dangers she might be exposing herself to. It was one of the things that Charles loved best about her, even as he despaired of it.

He had, of course, long since realised what it was that Raven had been doing. In a move that was fantastically like the way she had once, at the tender age of twelve, broken into a pet store to emancipate the animals within, Raven had been planning to break into the Shaw Foundation headquarters with the intention of doing much the same for any unfortunate creature that she found there.

Charles stared at the notes and papers on the desk in Raven’s room, marvelling at what it was that she had been planning. She had made all sorts of detailed notes and diagrams, both about what little was known of the Foundation’s research as well as of the known personnel therein. She had even gone so far as to draw up a plan on how to enter the building undetected, the blueprints of which now rested in Charles’s hands.

He looked at them. They were actually really very good. Very detailed, very precise. 

Charles really hadn’t needed more than a minute to make up his mind. With all other options gone, there was only one possible recourse left to him: he had to break into the Shaw Foundation headquarters himself.

**…**

And that was how, two short weeks later, Charles found himself sat behind a desk deep down in the dark recesses of the basement in the Shaw Foundation headquarters, his hands cuffed tightly together and his head still reeling from the tranquilizers that had been shot into his system.

He came to with a wretched headache, his eyes creaking open with what felt like superhuman effort. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy and his vision was too blurred to make out anything at all tangible. He shifted in his seat and allowed his eyes to close for a moment while he tried to remember what had happened. He let out a groan when it finally came back to him.

It was actually rather humiliating how quickly he had been captured, to be honest. Even his weeks of preparation had been of little use. He hadn’t taken into account the fact that, while full of the best intentions, he was really an academic at heart, and not made for secrecy and espionage. Whilst being reasonably fit and athletic, he lacked the stealth and grace that came naturally to his sister and, in the end, all it had taken was for him to place one wrong foot in front of a horribly-placed security laser beam to bring what felt like the entire Shaw Foundation security force crashing down on him. A millisecond later, and he was glancing down perplexedly at the dart that was sticking out of his thigh, and then he was suddenly looking at the floor instead, and then he knew no more.

Charles grimaced as he remembered it. Even now, tired and drugged as he was, it was still a crushing blow to his pride that he had been taken so easily. Perhaps he shouldn’t have dismissed Raven’s invitations for him to join her in the gym quite so decisively …

This memory of Raven immediately reminded him of what he was doing there, and he quickly pulled himself back into focus, pushing away the cottony feeling that was trying to cloud his mind. Once he was certain that he was in full control of his faculties, he decided to sit up. Then, taking a deep breath, he painstakingly forced his eyelids open once more.

‘Hello, Charles.’

Charles blinked.

In front of him sat a beautiful woman dressed all in white with not a hair out of place on her fabulously blonde head. Charles could not help but colour when he realised that she had been watching him this whole time, but he forced himself to meet her eyes, swallowing thickly. 

‘… Hello,’ he said awkwardly when he finally found himself capable of speech.

The woman smiled. She was wearing a calm but otherwise blank expression that somehow chilled him to the core.

‘Hello, Charles,’ she said again, and Charles felt a keen sense of dread building inside him. ‘My name is Emma Frost, and you and I have a great deal to talk about.’


	19. (The Dollhouse Wishes You A) Happy New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dollhouse New Year Special (written for New Year 2012-13). Takes place outside of the current timeline (most probably pre-'Splinter').

It was two hours to midnight and Doctor Hank McCoy, Dollhouse Programmer and resident genius, was just finishing off the last touches to his top-secret project. He briefly eyed the lines of code that he had typed onto the screen before glancing about him, making sure that all was quiet and that he wouldn’t be disturbed. 

It was highly unlikely that he would, of course – those that were lucky enough had the night off, and those that were unlucky had already been sent out on Assignment with their Actives. The chances of Hank being interrupted, therefore, were slim to none. The only real danger of discovery came from Emma Frost, but as she had never ventured out of her office on New Year’s Eve any time before, it was unlikely that she would start doing so now. As for her pet guard-dog, Victor Creed … well, where Emma went, he was sure to follow. As long as she stayed tucked up in her office then it was unlikely that Creed would stray too far from her.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Hank was doing anything wrong. Well … not _completely_ wrong, at any rate. It was honestly hard to tell, considering what he did on a day-to-day basis. He had all but given up on deciding the moral and ethical repercussions of his actions in the Dollhouse; the lines were too vague and blurry for even him to decipher at this point, and he would really much rather think about Science than about Ethics. Things were a lot easier that way.

‘Almost done,’ he murmured reassuringly, tapping a last few keys and running a keen eye over the string of code he had created before nodding with satisfaction. Then, taking a deep breath, he looked up from the screen on his lap and looked over to the other side of his office, towards the Chair. He paused for a moment, biting his lip, before shaking his head and puttering over towards it.

‘Just a moment,’ he muttered distractedly, turning a number of switches and dials this way and that. ‘Just a second longer …’ He turned one final switch and, smiling triumphantly, turned around and looked at the figure in the Chair next to him.

‘Goodbye, Havok,’ he said, and stabbed his finger downwards onto the big red button.

Thirty seconds later, Havok opened his eyes and blinked, a scowl flitting onto his face as if it belonged there.

‘The fuck are you looking at?’ he demanded, glaring at Hank.

Hank merely rolled his eyes and held out a hand, unfazed.

‘Happy New Year, too,’ he said dryly, his mouth curling up into a genuine smile as Alexander grasped hold of his hand and pulled himself out of the Chair.

‘Yeah, yeah, what do you expect, a cuddle?’ Alexander groused but there was warmth in his eyes. ‘We’re way too old to be snuggling, Bozo, however cute your mom says it is.’

Hank’s expression faltered for only a moment before his bright expression returned.

‘Then we might have a problem,’ he said slowly, coyly glancing down at his feet to hide the mischievous look in his eye. ‘I mean, I don’t know: does that mean that we’re too old for video games and chocolate-covered marshmallows as well?’

Alexander’s eyes went wide at that.

‘Hell no!’ he exclaimed, almost shoving Hank away in his enthusiasm. ‘Let me at ‘em! We can pretend to be ten years old all you want _after_ the marshmallows.’

Hank snorted.

‘Who’s pretending?’ he murmured, before leading the way out of the office, his smile wide and brilliant and beaming.

*****

Erik sat in his chair, a glass of scotch in his hand and his eyes on the picture on the wall. The clock was slowly ticking down and in less than ten minutes the current year would have ended and the new year begun.

Erik didn’t very much care for New Year’s Eve. It was tiresome and overly-sentimental and there were far too many people about for his liking. He had decided against attending the annual New Year’s party held by the police department; in fact, apart from that one time during his first year on the force, he had systematically refused every invitation that followed, citing various half-hearted excuses that no one even pretended to believe anymore. Erik wasn’t too bothered. He would much rather get rip-roaringly drunk in his own apartment than in whatever crummy place the department had hired for the night. Even better, he wouldn’t have to put up with that cheap swill that they insisted on serving at every single luncheon and party and dinner that they organised. If there was one thing that Erik couldn’t stand, it was substandard alcohol.

He cast an almost affectionate look at the bottle of scotch on his table. No, if he was going to get good and drunk for the New Year, then he was going to get good and drunk on the _good stuff_.

It was something of a tradition, by now, spending New Year’s Eve in the comforting silence of his apartment with an expensive bottle of scotch at his side. He had almost thought that this year would be different – he now had Raven here, after all – but she had stated loudly and decisively that she would be attending a party in one of the neighbouring buildings that night and that she didn’t intend to return until some sort of ridiculously early hour on the next day. She had tried to convince Erik to do the same, of course, but to no avail. And so it was that Erik was once again indulging in his solitary tradition, the glass at his side being steadily decimated as the hour crept closer to midnight.

It wasn’t completely the same, of course. Erik wasn’t alone, for one. Well. Not _so_ much alone, at any rate. Pathetic as it was, he couldn’t help but feel a fraction more cheered by the smile that shone out at him from the picture on the wall, Charles Xavier’s eyes warm and comforting, telling him that for this New Year at least, he was not alone. 

Erik had even, in a fit of nauseating sentimentality, gone so far as to leave out a second glass in honour of Xavier’s photographic company. He didn’t know what had prompted him to do so, but he’d decided that he’d liked it. It made him feel … as if he wasn’t quite so alone.

His eyes were drawn to the dry, empty glass, and he sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

He didn’t know who he was fooling but it was certainly not himself.

Eight minutes to go and Erik found that he didn’t have the slightest clue why he even bothered staying up any more. The days when the night had cast some sort of magic over him whilst he sat on his mother’s knee had long passed; now, instead of heralding some sort of bright and hopeful future, the New Year now only meant one thing: he was getting old.

Five minutes to midnight, and he was just topping up his glass of scotch when there was a noise outside his apartment door, startling Erik out of his reverie. He was slow to react and before he could do much more than gape at the entrance to his flat, the door was opening and Raven was tumbling in, her hair windswept and her coat pulled tightly around her frame.

‘It’s fucking _freezing_!’ she moaned, shoving the door shut behind her, pulling her coat off in one slick move and then dumping herself into the armchair next to Erik’s. ‘Here, give us a glass of that, will you?’

Erik stared at her. He opened his mouth to say something, only to find himself mechanically moving over to pour out another glass of scotch, his eyes never leaving the figure sat next to him.

‘Ah,’ Raven said, sighing in satisfaction as he silently handed her what had been Xavier’s honorary glass, ‘Just what I needed,’ and she took a deep swig that nearly emptied the glass in one go.

‘Raven,’ Erik said at last, still staring on blankly as Raven smacked her lips together, ‘Raven , what are you _doing_ here?’

Raven paused and glanced up at him, her head cocked to one side.

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she asked dryly. ‘I’m spending New Year’s Eve with friends.’

‘But …’ Erik started helplessly. ‘I thought-’

‘Besides,’ Raven interrupted him as if he had never spoken. ‘That party in apartment thirteen?’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘It sucked. _Big_ time.’ She frowned and started fussing with the television remote, deliberately not looking towards Erik.

Erik watched her for a moment, not knowing what to think. His jaw worked silently, as if preparing to let loose a flurry of scathing words about his desire for solitude and his abhorrence of any form of pity, but something stopped him. Slowly, he forced his eyes away from Raven’s strangely-tensed form, and allowed himself to relax back into his seat. 

‘Right,’ he said neutrally. ‘Of course.’ He then reached over to the table by his side and lifted the half-full bottle. ‘More?’ he asked, his tone even.

Raven’s face split into a slow smile at that, and she quickly melted back against the seat, infusing the room with a sudden sense of contentment that had been missing before.

‘Make mine a double,’ she said cheerfully, sprawling back in her chair. Her eyes twinkled as she watched Erik dutifully pour her out a glass. ‘See,’ she said, taking the glass from him with a smile, ‘Already this is _way_ better than apartment thirteen.’

Erik didn’t say anything, but merely raised his own glass to her in salutation, a gesture that Raven returned with a soft look in her eye.

Then they both turned to sit back in their chairs and waited to welcome the New Year together.

*****

Emma sipped her champagne, humming pleasantly under her breath.

She did so love the New Year. 

Not that she actually did anything for it; no, she was far too busy – far too _important_ – to waste her time doing things like _celebrating_ or going to parties that she would in all probability dislike very much. No, Emma’s affection for the New Year was more impersonal than that; more vicarious. Altruistic, some might call it. Others would say voyeuristic, rather, but Emma couldn’t be bothered with pedantry. The fact of the matter was that she enjoyed New Year’s Eve because everyone _else_ enjoyed it. People of all ages, creeds and nationalities relaxed, turning their hopes and thoughts and aspirations towards the future with a childish innocence that was almost – dare she say it – _beautiful_ to behold. It was breathtaking, really, to think of that potent sense of hope turned towards an unknown future.

And, of course, there was also the fact that New Year’s Eve was one of the Dollhouse’s most profitable days of the entire fiscal year. The demand for their services was never greater; people wanted to celebrate, they wanted to _do_ things, things that could make them feel that they ended the year on a high. Whether that meant climbing Everest or merely having one night of mind-blowing sex, it all came down to one thing: no one wanted to be alone on New Year’s Eve.

Well, Emma amended with a slight smile, _almost_ no one. Personally, she couldn’t think of a better way to start the New Year than in the way that she planned to; alone, away from the banality of human stupidity and desperation, and with a glass of truly excellent champagne in her hand.

Not everyone was as immune to the need for companionship as she was, however, and this year had been particularly busy. A number of her staff had requested the night off months in advance, and she’d had to draft in temps to cover the number of Assignments that had been requested for the night. Even Mr. Sydney, who normally had New Year’s Eve off, had been asked to cover an alternate Active just so that they could get through the night. His Active, Havok, would be otherwise engaged, as was usual.

Emma smiled slightly as her thoughts drifted up to her Programmer. She knew very well, of course, just what the boy got up to on the one night a year that he though that she wouldn’t be looking, but Emma never did anything about it. It was only one night, after all, and despite being truly extraordinary Doctor McCoy was still only human: even he felt the need for human companionship at times. It wasn’t as if he ever left the Dollhouse, anyway. Everything would still be under Emma’s control, even if Hank never knew about it. All she had to do was turn a blind eye and ensure that Havok was never otherwise engaged on New Year’s Eve.

She was interrupted in the midst of her reverie by the sounds from the radio on her desk. Reaching forward, she gently turned the dial up, increasing the volume. The countdown to midnight had just started and the sound of the crowd counting down the numbers echoed out from the radio and through the room.

_Ten!_

_Nine!_

_Eight!_

_Seven!_

Emma smiled as the crowd became more boisterous and enthusiastic with each descending number. This was her favourite part. She always had enjoyed countdowns. She closed her eyes, smiling, and listened.

_Six!_

_Five!_

_Four!_

*****

_Three!_

_Two!_

_One!_

_Happy New Year!_

Logan watched, a scowl on his face, as the man in the black coat leaned forward and, placing his arms around Charlie’s neck, brought him forward into a deep, heated kiss. His scowl only deepened as he watched Charlie flush with pleasure and wrap his arms around the man in return, looking for all the world like Cinderella being kissed at the prince’s fucking ball.

Not for the first time that night, Logan wondered whether he ought to have taken the day off. A lot of the other Handlers and Dollhouse staff had been eagerly awaiting their night off, scheduled months in advance. Others had been very vocal about having to work both Christmas _and_ New Year, but the complaints were only half-hearted; they all knew what they were getting into when they signed up for the job and there wasn’t a single person who could deny that the Dollhouse compensation schemes and pay rates were more than generous. Besides, none of them would be caught dead whining about anything where there was a chance that Miss Frost – or even Victor Creed, for that matter – might hear about it. The Dollhouse may be generous with money, but patience was an entirely different matter.

Logan, of course, never really had a problem with all that. He was a single guy who all but lived in the Dollhouse and nearly all the money that he made went straight into a bank account where it was probably gathering a minor gold mine in interest. He had no family, few friends, and little interest in anything social. He had absolutely no qualms about working birthdays, Christmas, New Year or Hanukkah: they were all the same to him in that they all meant nothing.

Besides, he thought bleakly to himself as he watched the Client all but suck Charlie’s face off, it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to go.

And, if he was being brutally honest with himself, there was no one else that he would rather spend New Year’s Eve with. Which was to say, no one other than Charlie. He could do just fine without the joker who was currently drooling all over his Active’s face, thank you very much.

He sighed. He was being out of sorts and he knew it. Normally he didn’t let things get to him. Today, though … today things were different. Perhaps it was because he was finally coming to understand himself better or maybe it was just because it was New Year’s Eve (and if you didn’t think about this sort of shit on New Year’s fucking Eve, then when could you think about it?) but he couldn’t help but feel tired and unhappy. This – this was no way to spend the New Year. Not for him, and not for Charlie. It made something curdle sourly in his stomach to think that their year was starting exactly how the last one had ended, and that the same thing would happen again and again and again until Charlie’s contract ran out or his own did.

Logan scowled and looked longingly over at the bar which was buzzing with calls for the harried bartenders. He had ordered himself a drink already so as to not stick out from everyone else, but he never forgot that he was on a job and that he needed to keep all of his wits about him. Charlie was his responsibility, after all. 

It didn’t stop him from wishing that he had a good few more fingers of whisky in his glass, though.

Sighing, Logan turned back towards the dance floor, where Charlie was gently swaying in the arms of his Client, a happy, blissful expression on his face.

No, Logan reflected grimly, it wouldn’t do to long for things that you couldn’t get. Wanting things you couldn’t have always led to trouble, and Logan didn’t have time for all that. He was better off keeping his goddamn paws to himself and minding his own goddamn business.

Pretending to himself that he was only reflecting about whisky, Logan turned his eyes back towards his watch and waited.


	20. Bargains - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wakes up to find that he is not alone.
> 
> Follows on from 'Search'.

_Three years and one month ago,_

‘Hello, Charles. My name is Emma Frost, and you and I have a great deal to talk about.’

There was silence.

Then Charles narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth.

‘I don’t know what game you are playing, Miss Frost,’ he said coldly in a tone that would have made his mother proud, ‘but the only thing that you and I have to discuss is location of my sister and then the direction of the nearest exit.’ He narrowed his eyes, hoping that he looked braver than he felt, ‘Anything else, I believe, had best be taken up in the presence of the police.’

He was somewhat discomfited when, instead of quailing under the force of his imperious stare, Miss Frost smiled.

‘You have character,’ she said in a tone that was almost approving, ‘I can’t say I was expecting that.’

The words surprised Charles, who frowned in puzzlement.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said hesitantly, wondering if he had heard wrong. 

But Miss Frost was already speaking, her tone thoughtful.

‘That being said,’ she mused reflectively, ‘if you had anything less he wouldn’t want you so very badly. Anything less and you probably would have already succumbed.’ She hummed at that and took another long look at Charles. ‘No,’ she murmured, ‘no, I was wrong to have supposed that you were merely a pretty face.’

Charles didn’t have the slightest clue what it was that she was talking about but even so he felt a slight flush rise in his cheeks and he found himself fighting the urge to squirm in his chair like some sort of recalcitrant schoolboy. He quickly shook himself and sat up straighter in his seat. He had faced down his mother at the height of her cold severity and countless others of the same ilk; he would be damned before he cowered before _this_ woman.

‘Miss Frost,’ he said sharply, his impatience only just concealing his uneasiness, ‘I really must ask you to release me at once. You have no right to detain me here and I am certain that the police-’

‘The police, Charles?’ Miss Frost interrupted, her voice light, ‘You would really want to bring the police into this? Or ought I to remind you that it is _you_ that was caught breaking into _our_ facility in the dead of night?’

Charles’s face went red at that and he began to sputter indignantly. 

‘Yes, but that is only because-’ he started, only to be cut off once more.

‘I am sure that – the breaking and entering charges aside – the police would be greatly interested to know just why a respected scientist such as yourself would be breaking into a heavily-guarded, top-secret laboratory at such a time,’ Emma continued musingly, her light and pleasant tone more suited to a garden party than the current circumstances. ‘I think that we can be reasonably sure that the words “industrial espionage” would crop up at some point …’

‘Stop it,’ Charles snapped angrily, but the slight tremor in his voice gave away his anxiety. ‘You’re being ridiculous. You know very well that I don’t care about your professional secrets.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not how the police would see it, sugar,’ Emma said, not even attempting to sound sympathetic. ‘I don’t think a judge would be too keen on it, either. And while the Xavier name may command a lot of respect in some circles, I’m afraid it won’t hold a candle against the Foundation’s reputation.’

Charles’s hands tightened into fists, torn between anger and fear. He forced himself to remain calm, however, as he turned to Emma in appeal.

‘Please,’ he said, low and restrained and earnest, ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble. I just – I want my sister back, Miss Frost. I _need_ her back. I have to find her and I can’t – I _won’t_ stop until I do … She means _everything_ to me.’ There was a pause before he uttered the next sentence, the words coming out heavy yet resolute, ‘And if getting her back means going up against the Shaw Foundation, then – I must.’

If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Miss Frost softened ever so slightly at that, but when he blinked her face was just as cold and marble-like as ever.

‘You do realise that any such action would be futile?’ she asked with a slight tilt of the head. ‘That there is really nothing that you can do to stop the Foundation?’

Charles swallowed but made himself sit up straighter in his seat.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said firmly, shaking his head, ‘I still have to try. She’s my _sister_.’ A flicker of pain crossed his face and he took a deep breath before looking back up at his captor. ‘Now, will you _please_ release me, Miss Frost, and let me on my way?’

Emma regarded him for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face.

‘No,’ she said.

Charles stared at her.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked, baffled.

‘I said no, Mr. Xavier. We will not be releasing you,’ Frost smiled thinly, ‘Well – not just yet, at any rate.’

‘Will you be calling the police?’ Charles demanded, half wanting the answer to be in the positive even as he dreaded such a thing. ‘Is that what we’re waiting for?’

Emma cocked her head to the side and contemplated him for a moment.

‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘No, I don’t think that we ought to get the police involved, do you?’

‘But-’ Charles sputtered. ‘Then I’m not sure that I understand. Why am I _here_?’ 

Emma raised an eyebrow.

‘That is the question, isn’t it, Mr. Xavier?’ she asked lightly. ‘For the moment, though, the reason you are here is, as I said before, to talk. Just talk, nothing more.’

‘I very much doubt that we have a great deal to say to one another,’ Charles said tightly, gritting his teeth. ‘If this is about my research, Miss Frost, then I will sadly have to inform you-’

‘Oh, no,’ Emma waved him away impatiently, ‘You have it quite wrong. You see, Professor, we don’t want _you_ to talk to _us_. _We_ are the ones that want to talk to _you_.’

Charles was silent for a moment.

‘I can’t imagine that you have anything to say that I want to hear,’ he said at last. ‘Not if it hasn’t got anything to do with Raven.’

Emma smiled.

‘We will get to that shortly,’ she said pleasantly. ‘All in good time. But I must confess myself surprised - surely your curiosity is not so restricted as all that, Professor? Surely you want to know more?’

Charles’s eyes narrowed. ‘More about what?’ he asked her suspiciously.

Emma’s eyes gleamed.

‘You are in the heart of the Shaw Foundation headquarters, Mr. Xavier,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I am sure that you’d have a million questions, if only you could put your mind to it.’ She paused for a moment, as if to allow Charles time to think, before continuing, ‘I believe, for instance, that you would like to know what it is that the Shaw Foundation actually _does_. Am I right?’

Charles, his expression wary, slowly nodded his head.

‘Well then, let me explain,’ Emma said easily. ‘We at the Shaw Foundation are dedicated to maximising the potential of the average human being and building on his natural abilities in any way that we can, whether it be through physical development and augmentation, or through the mental and neurological.’ Her eyes flicked up to meet Charles’s. ‘I am sure that I have no need to add that we have naturally been immensely successful in all of our remits.’

Charles, who had been listening carefully, narrowed his eyes.

‘So what are you saying?’ he asked slowly, his eyes fixed steadily on Emma. ‘That you are creating some sort of super-soldier?’

Emma smiled.

‘That, indeed, is but one small part of our goals,’ she admitted with a gracious nod of her head. ‘But only a small part, dear Professor. The idea of the super-soldier is very old-fashioned, after all – quaint, if you will. No, our interests these days lie more in the neurological.’ She paused. ‘Tell me, Charles, have you ever heard of the Dollhouse?’

Charles stared. Then he let out a bark of laughter.

‘You’ve got to be joking!’ he scoffed.

Emma just sat there and watched him, looking completely unperturbed by his laughter. She waited for him to fall silent before continuing.

‘Why?’ she asked in a calm, reasonable tone of voice. ‘Why must I be joking?’

Charles looked at her in surprise.

‘Well, it’s-’ he tried to shrug but was hampered by the cuffs tethering him. ‘It’s preposterous!’ he said at last, shaking his head. ‘It’s like something out of science-fiction! The very idea that there are men and women out there who can be _programmed_ like computers-’

‘Like _Dolls_ , Mr. Xavier,’ Emma coolly interrupted him, ‘programmed like _Dolls_.’

Charles opened his mouth but nothing came out.

‘You can’t be serious,’ he said after a moment, his disbelief slowly fading and giving way to a sudden chill. ‘This is – you just can’t.’

Emma raised an eyebrow.

‘I am being completely serious,’ she said coolly. ‘The Dollhouse exists, Charles, and we are currently in it. Well,’ she amended, completely ignoring Charles’s flabbergasted expression, ‘ _One_ of them, anyway.’

‘One of ….’ Charles shook his head, ‘Are you saying that all of those rumours I’ve been hearing about the Dollhouse are _true_? And that there’s _more than one_ of them?’

Emma’s smile turned catlike.

‘Well, I wouldn’t say _all_ of them,’ she drawled, giving him a conspiratorial look. ‘That one about us having actually taken over the world by turning every single human being in existence into a Doll without their knowledge is, of course, complete hokum.’ Her expression turned thoughtful. ‘At least, I _think_ it is …’ She then shook her head and was once more her business-like self. ‘But as for the parts about us being an organisation that programs the minds of young men and women to be whatever we want them to be? Well – that part _is_ true.’

Charles recoiled.

‘That’s – that’s insane!’ he burst out before he could stop himself, his eyes wide. ‘Completely and utterly insane! Worse than that – it’s _wrong_! It’s _experimenting on human beings_! It’s – it’s _kidnapping_ and – and _prostitution_ , and-’ he looked at Emma with wide, horrified eyes. ‘Do they even _consent_? _Can_ they consent?’

Emma was regarding him patiently, not seeming in the least bit put out by Charles’s horror and disgust.

‘Of course they consent,’ she said coolly after Charles had quietened. ‘I know what you may think of us, Mr. Xavier, but we are not monsters. We do have a strict standard of ethics here that we follow very closely.’ Something flickered in her expression. ‘Unless, of course, it is necessary to do otherwise. But I assure you, every single one of our Actives – that is to say, our Dolls – has agreed to be where they are now.’

Charles couldn’t stop himself from scoffing at that.

‘I can’t say I believe that,’ he said grimly, shaking his head. ‘I can’t see why anyone in their right mind would sign away their lives – sign away their _bodies_ , their _minds_ – and do so _voluntarily_.’

Emma raised an eyebrow.

‘Can you not, Mr. Xavier?’ she asked sweetly.

But Charles was paying no attention to her tone.

‘No,’ he said resolutely. ‘There must be something else. There’s agreement, and then there is agreement under duress. No one sane would agree to what you are asking them to do. No one.’

Emma looked thoughtful.

‘It’s true what you say,’ she said, sitting back in her chair, ‘And it’s true that we only choose to make our offer to those who are in … very particular circumstances. But believe me when I say, Charles,’ here she looked at him pointedly, ‘that the majority of our contracts were signed without hesitation or regret and that, even whilst fully comprehending what they were signing up for, each one of our Actives found our offer infinitely more attractive and desirable than their alternatives.’

Charles swallowed. His tightly-wound control was beginning to unravel and he was becoming all too aware of the thunderous beating of his heart. At any other time he might have greatly desired to know more but now he just felt sick and scared and exhausted.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked desolately, balling his hands into fists. ‘I don’t understand – what are you getting at? Why is this even relevant?’

Emma paused at that and looked at Charles with an almost sympathetic expression on her face.

‘Charles,’ she said quietly, ‘I think you already know.’

Charles’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips nervously but there didn’t seem to be any moisture anywhere in his mouth.

‘But it’s not-’ he started haltingly. ‘She wouldn’t-’ He swallowed.

Emma watched him emotionlessly.

Charles licked his lips and tried again.

‘If you’re trying to tell me that my sister – that _Raven_ – is somehow involved … that she _agreed_ to something like this, then you are out of your mind. Completely and utterly barking.’

Still Emma watched him, unmoving.

‘No,’ Charles shook his head resolutely, trying to prevent his heart from sinking, ‘No, I won’t believe it. Raven’s – she’s _Raven_. She wouldn’t agree to anything like this. Not without-’ he swallowed, ‘Not without telling me first.’

Emma made a humming noise low in her throat. ‘Perhaps,’ she said delicately, her eyelashes lowered, ‘you don’t know your sister as well as you thought you did.’

Charles’s lips twisted into a grimace. That much, it seemed, was now obvious.

‘So that’s it then,’ he said dully, ‘This is where she has been all this time. Kept here and brainwashed and made to-’ he barely contained the dry sob that had risen up in his throat ‘-made to do _god knows what_ in the meantime. Is that it?’

Emma watched him carefully before dipping her head in a nod.

‘She has been safe,’ she said quietly. It didn’t make Charles feel any better – nor was it meant to – but the words still held some sort of reassurance. ‘She has not been exposed to any sort of harm, I promise you. She knows nothing and feels nothing. When her contract ends she will be none the wiser … it will be like none of this ever happened.’

Charles let out a choked laugh.

‘Her contract … and when will _that_ be?’

‘Five years,’ Emma answered softly, and Charles closed his eyes in pain. ‘Each contract that we make is for five years. Miss Darkholme has only covered a few months of that time so far.’

‘There must be a way out of this,’ Charles said, shaking his head and desperately trying not to think of what they were making his sister – his sweet, baby sister – do in the name of the Dollhouse. ‘I’ll do _anything_ – I’ll keep quiet, I’ll do as you ask - I will pay you anything you want – just let her go. _Please_ let Raven go.’

But Emma was shaking her head.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, and her mouth was drawn up tightly even if her face gave nothing else away, ‘But I am afraid that I cannot do that. The Shaw Foundation is not in need of money and in any case, an Active is worth far more to us than … well, most things. I am sorry, Charles, but there is nothing that I can do.’ 

Charles was on the verge of despair when Emma’s eyes suddenly lifted up to meet his own, and he felt his heart begin to beat faster.

‘There is nothing I can do,’ Emma repeated slowly, eyes all but drilling into Charles, ‘ _Unless_ …’ She paused. 

Charles’s fingernails were now digging viciously into his palms and the desk was cutting into his sternum as he pressed himself against the table, leaning forward in desperate anticipation.

Emma watched him, an odd sort of expression on her face. She sighed then, and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them she was once again cold and distant, seemingly as void of emotion as an ice sculpture.

‘I will make you an offer, Charles,’ she said, her eyes fixed upon his. ‘But you ought to know that this is not something that I do everyday. Nor do I do it lightly.’ She paused. ‘It just so happens that our … _needs_ coincide at this point in time. So I will make you a deal, Charles – and bear in mind that this is the only way that your sister will be able to leave us for the next four and a half years.’

Charles was already nodding, prepared to do anything for the return of his sister.

‘As I said before,’ Emma said calmly, ‘Our Actives are our most valued assets. Each Active is worth more to us than the collected fortunes of a small country. The only thing that would make any transaction worthwhile,’ and here her eyes were once again boring deep into Charles and her next words were said in clear and deliberate tones, ‘would be a trade of equal value.’

A slight crease appeared on Charles’s forehead even as something in his gut twisted unpleasantly.

‘A trade of equal value …’ he repeated slowly, a frown on his face.

‘Yes,’ Emma said softly. ‘Value for value. Like for like.’ She paused. ‘Active for Active.’ 

Charles’s blood ran cold.

‘You want someone to _replace_ her?’ he choked out, feeling horrified. ‘You want someone else to take her place?’

Emma stared back at him, unperturbed and unblinking.

‘That is up to you,’ she said evenly. ‘I am merely giving you an option.’

Charles licked his lips, trying to calm himself. A few things were beginning to click into place now.

‘Me,’ he rasped out, his voice dry, ‘You want – you are suggesting that _I_ should exchange myself for my sister.’

Emma’s expression did not alter.

Charles ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes tightly together.

‘This is madness,’ he breathed. ‘I – I _love_ my sister, but what you are asking – what you are asking is too much. It’s – five _years_!’

‘Four years and eight months,’ Emma corrected him.

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Charles’s throat at that. 

‘I’m not sure that makes a difference,’ he said, the laugh suddenly changing into a sob. ‘Five years … why would Raven _agree_ to such a thing?’

Emma met his eyes.

‘For you,’ she said quietly. ‘She agreed to do it for you.’ She waited patiently as Charles let out something that could have been a sob of despair. ‘She would probably have agreed even otherwise – the prison sentence for breaking into our facility is not a light one, I can tell you – but what really clinched it was the idea that by doing so, she had ruined your reputation and career. After all, what on earth would people say if they found out that the sister of the notable scientist Charles Xavier was caught breaking into the offices of his rivals?’

Charles almost jerked to his feet at that, but his constraints stopped him.

‘You – you …’ he was trembling all over. ‘You _used_ me! You used me to get to her, and now you are doing the same in reverse! Is _this_ how you do business, Miss Frost?’ he spat, ‘By cold-hearted manipulation? With blackmail and threats and emotional duress?’

Emma’s expression immediately turned dark.

‘No, Mr. Xavier,’ she said crisply, and there was an almost bitter look in her eye. ‘No, it is most certainly not.’ She grimaced then. ‘Not usually.’

‘Then why _us_?’ Charles broke out, looking completely bewildered and unhappy. ‘Why are – why are you doing this?’

Emma only looked back at him, her face a mask that gave away nothing.

‘You need to make a decision, Mr. Xavier,’ she said quietly, looking straight at him. ‘The time to do so is quickly passing.’

‘But it’s not fair,’ Charles whispered, eyes wide and blue and full of misery. ‘It’s not – _surely_ there is some other way!’

But Emma shook her head, cutting off any such hopes.

‘Active for Active,’ she reminded him. ‘Contract for contract.’

Charles swallowed and closed his eyes tight.

‘But five years,’ he muttered, feeling almost suffocated, ‘ _Five years_ – surely there is some way … Can it not be lessened?’

Emma’s expression was stern.

‘Four years and eight months,’ she repeated in a monotone. ‘That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.’

Charles opened his mouth, shaking his head in disbelief. Deep in his heart, he knew what his decision would be – he had always known it – but even so he could not bring himself to give in quite so easily.

‘This isn’t-’ he shook his head, trying to deny everything that he had heard, ‘this _can’t_ be real, it just _can’t_ – it’s practically a form of _slavery_ , for God’s sake!’

Miss Frost seemed not to have heard him.

‘Mr. Xavier, I must ask you to make your decision,’ she said steadily.

Charles felt himself beginning to panic.

‘But – I need _time_!’ he protested, a bead of sweat running down his brow. ‘You can’t just ask me – _five years_!’

‘Mr. Xavier …’

‘I need time to think, I need time to decide! I-’

‘ _Now_ , Charles,’ Emma said firmly, cutting him off before he could go any further. ‘I will give you to the count of three.’

Charles’s jaw dropped open.

‘But this is _ludicrous_!’ he said with a painfully weak laugh. ‘I can’t just decide in that small space of-‘

‘One.’

‘Oh, honestly, don’t be ridiculous!’ Charles stammered, his heart thundering in his chest. ‘This can’t be legal, I mean, _think_ about it-’

‘Two.’

‘But this is madness! I need more time! I need to think things through and-’

‘Thr-’

‘ _Wait!_ ’

Emma paused, her mouth still slightly open, as if waiting to finish the syllable.

‘I’ll do it!’ Charles gasped out, his throat tight and the breath heavy in his chest. ‘God damn you, but I’ll do it.’

Emma smiled.

There was a pause.

Then Emma raised her right hand and clicked her fingers.

Charles had barely a moment in which to be bewildered before the door opened and in walked a bland, unobtrusive man carrying a sheaf of papers. He carefully set them down on the table before turning to Miss Frost, who nodded once. The man then turned to Charles and, face still as blank as ever, proceeded to unlock the cuffs from around Charles’s wrists. That done, he once again nodded to Miss Frost before turning and walking out of the door.

Emma waited until the door was shut behind him before turning to the papers in front of her.

‘This is your contract,’ she said briskly. ‘I took the liberty of having it drawn up shortly after I knew of your presence here. I think you will find everything in order.’

Charles, who was rubbing his wrists dazedly, just blinked at her.

‘Read it over,’ Emma said pleasantly, pushing the papers over to him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll let you take your time.’

Slowly, Charles straightened up, hesitating before he reached over and pulled the papers towards him. They were made of a thick, expensive parchment, the like of which one rarely saw anymore. At any other time, Charles would have been intrigued by this fact but now it only made him feel sick.

He closed his eyes and tried to will the nausea down. There was no point putting this off, he told himself. He had already agreed to it. There was nothing else to be done. He had to do this, for Raven’s sake.

Nerve restored, he opened his eyes.

Then, taking a deep breath, he turned to look down at the papers and began to read.


	21. Interlude III - Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Logan Howlett, Handler.

Logan stared at the clock, watching the second-hand move slowly around the clock face. Twenty minutes. He had twenty more minutes till he could leave for the Dollhouse without arriving ridiculously early. Twenty minutes before he could safely turn up without appearing over-eager …Twenty minutes before he could actually start feeling useful for the day. 

He had it down to a goddamned science by now.

The minute-hand moved a hair’s breadth to the right and Logan let out a sigh, shifting restlessly on his bed. Nineteen minutes left. Nineteen more minutes until he could leave this cold, lonely set of rooms behind and head to the Dollhouse to find Charles.

Ever since he had joined the Dollhouse, Logan’s day had been divided into two chief segments: Time Spent With Charles and Time Spent Without Charles. As a Handler, Logan was officially expected to care for his Active at all times but the truth was that Handlers only really earned their pay during Assignments, when their Actives left the Dollhouse. The rest of the time, the Actives’ well-being was supervised by the House Team who watched over the Dolls and nudged them in the right direction when it was time to eat or play or exercise or shower. It wasn’t unusual for Handlers to be about at this time, but most of them either preferred to limit their shifts to when they had Assignments, or else gather in the Recreation Room until such a time as they were needed.

As Logan had nothing but time on his hands and no one else to spend it with, he often ended up taking back-to-back shifts even when there were no Assignments scheduled – which, granted, wasn’t very often: Charles was, after all, the Dollhouse’s most popular Active. When there were no Assignments, however, Logan retreated to the Dollhouse floor where he watched over Charles with a keen eye, acting for all the world like the House Team did not exist. That being said, he was well aware that too much time spent hovering over his Active wouldn’t be good either for his position or for his reputation, and so he made sure to visit the Recreation Rooms with the other Handlers at least once a day. Smoking was still forbidden and alcohol wasn’t allowed, but at least the place had a pool table and a couple of TVs, so the lack wasn’t felt too badly. There were other things of course – bookshelves, games and even a chess set, but Logan didn’t really care for such distractions.

He didn’t often speak to many of the other Handlers whilst in the Rec Room, except perhaps to talk them out of their money and into a game of pool when he was feeling particularly bored. He mostly kept to himself, but never protested when Havok’s Handler Kevin strolled up to him and started chattering about something or the other. Kevin, after all, was easily satisfied: all he asked for was the occasional grunt or roll of the eyes and he’d be happy. Logan, generous soul that he was, was always ready to oblige.

There was no real schedule to life at the Dollhouse. This was mainly due to the fact that Assignments had no real time frame – they could take place day or night and could last anywhere between one hour and twenty-four, with some exceptional circumstances leading to even longer Assignations. All that mattered was the Client’s preference: whether it be 3pm or 3am, the time was to the Client’s convenience, not the House’s. The Dollhouse, as Logan had repeatedly been told, worked to accommodate the Client and not the other way around.

These reminders most often came from the mouth of Miss Frost herself, although Logan took great pains to avoid her, if only for this reason. Frost seemed to have taken something of a liking to Logan – as much of a liking, that is, as she seemed emotionally capable of having for anyone – and she seemed to be particularly fond of sending for him in order to receive weekly updates on Charles’s condition, something that Kevin assured him was not the norm.

‘Look at it this way,’ he’d said with a slight smirk, ‘It’s one of two things: either she’s concerned about your Charles and is using you to keep tabs on him-’ Logan’s eyes narrowed at the suggestion ‘- _or_ …’

‘Yes?’ Logan growled impatiently.

Kevin shrugged.

‘Or else she wants in your pants,’ he finished, his amiable expression hiding the wicked gleam in his eye. ‘Either way, darlin’, you’re screwed.’

Logan had snarled at him – he’d rather gouge his own eyes out than have _anything_ to do with Frost, thanks – but Kevin merely laughed, his high-pitched cackling doing nothing to calm Logan’s anxiety.

Frost wasn’t the only one to seek him out, however. Every now and then Logan would come into contact with Victor Creed, who made a point of stopping and having a word with him each time. As Creed was Head of Dollhouse Security, this happened more often than Logan was strictly keen on; truth was, he couldn’t help but feel that Creed was one strange sonofabitch. Half of his comments to Logan seemed to be thinly-veiled taunts hidden by a layer of brisk professionalism, while the other half seemed to be gruff but nevertheless amiable suggestions for Logan’s own benefit. It was as if Creed found some sort of odd kinship with Logan; as if he could sense that like himself, Logan wasn’t cut out for social niceties and normality.

Judging by the nature of the Dollhouse, then, it seemed that he was in exactly the right place.

Logan was constantly reminded of the Dollhouse’s sketchy morality at every turn. He saw it in the vaguely content gazes of the Actives; he saw it in the watchful eyes of the security teams; he saw it in each and every Assignment that he escorted Charles on. And these Assignments – even the ones that weren’t about sex – were more than dubious in nature.

This was brought once again to Logan’s attention as he watched Charlie slouch back onto the seat of the van, one booted foot on the seat next to him while the other rested on the floor, his legs spread wide and his attitude fully relaxed. His clothing was all black – everything from the leather jacket to the tight black jeans to his socks, and there was an air of silent menace to him even as he lay slumped in the back of the van. 

As Logan studied him, he saw a gleam of blue from beneath an eyelid; it seemed that his scrutiny of Charlie was not as covert as he had thought it was.

‘See anything you like?’ a teasing murmur came from a barely-moving mouth.

Logan’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah I do, as a matter of fact,’ he said calmly, taking a drag of his cigar and blowing the smoke out of the window. He nodded towards Charlie’s chest. ‘Was kinda thinking that that jacket of yours ain’t half bad.’

There was a glimmer of amusement from Charlie, his mouth twitching upwards, before he suddenly swung himself up into a fully sitting position, both of his feet once more on the ground.

‘It _is_ nice, isn’t it?’ he said nonchalantly, before raking his own eyes over Logan. The gaze wasn’t flirtatious, though; it was more the look of one professional sizing another one up. He hummed pensively. ‘Where did you say that Carl found you, again?’

Logan slowly blew out a lungful of smoke.

‘The bunk above him,’ he said gruffly. At Charlie’s raised eyebrow, he clarified, ‘We were cellmates.’

‘Ah,’ Charlie nodded at that. ‘You known him long?’

One side of Logan’s mouth pulled upwards.

‘Longer than you’ve been around,’ he said smoothly. He cocked his head. ‘You ever done time?’

Charlie raised an eyebrow at that.

‘Me?’ he laughed. ‘What do you think?’

Logan regarded him evenly. ‘I think that you wouldn’t last very long in prison,’ he said, blunt, causing Charlie’s smile to thin.

‘You underestimate me,’ he said coolly, something icy entering his blue eyes. It disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, however, and Charlie waved a careless hand in front of him. ‘Not that it matters, anyway. _I_ , unlike some, am far too good at what I do to get caught.’

Both of Logan’s eyebrows went up at that.

‘Is that so?’ he murmured, his expression thoughtful. ‘What was it that you said you did again?’

‘Oh, this and that,’ Charlie answered vaguely, gesturing with his hand. ‘I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, you see.’

‘But master of none?’ Logan’s tone was challenging.

Charlie sent him a scornful look, annoyed by the implication.

‘Quite the opposite,’ he said crisply. He gave Logan a fierce look. ‘Why else do you think I’m here?’

Logan shrugged at that.

‘Dunno,’ he said, feigning a lack interest, ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

Charlie paused at that and tilted his head.

‘You know, you sure seem interested in what I can and can’t do,’ he said casually, a note of suspicion entering his voice. His hand crept near to the waist of his trousers, where Logan knew that he had at least one weapon stashed. ‘A bit _too_ interested for my liking, if I’m honest …’

Logan gave an internal sigh.

‘You think I’m a cop,’ he said bluntly, causing Charlie’s hand to pause.

‘Yes,’ Charlie said after a beat. ‘That’s exactly what I think.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Logan said calmly. ‘You already know that Carl vouched for me.’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie licked his lips, his back tense. ‘But then maybe I can’t trust _Carl_.’

Logan cursed internally. He had been too antagonistic, too careless. He should have known that this version of Charlie would be highly suspicious and paranoid. They had made him that way, after all.

Logan opened his mouth to speak but suddenly there was a gun in front of his face, Charlie’s grip firm and steady and his eyes ice-cold and narrowed.

‘Give me one good reason not to shoot you,’ he said icily, his gaze unwavering.

Logan glanced from the gun to Charlie and raised an eyebrow.

‘I thought I already did,’ he said easily, not moving from his seat opposite Charles. ‘I told you, Carl trusts me. The only real question then, bub, is if you do.’

Charlie paused and that and frowned. The hand that had been holding the gun so steadily before, now dipped.

‘What?’ he asked uncertainly.

Logan met his eyes and fixed them there, before slowly reaching out with his right hand.

‘Do you trust me?’ he asked Charles quietly.

Charlie blinked, his blue eyes round and bewildered for a moment before they suddenly cleared. He dropped the gun and reached out to clasp Logan’s hand in his.

‘With my life,’ he answered, sincerity apparent in every fibre of his being.

They stayed like that for a moment before Charlie blinked, once again returning to himself. By the time he looked down at his hand, Logan had retreated, and was instead stooping down to pick up the fallen gun.

‘Here,’ he said gruffly, holding the gun out to Charlie. ‘You dropped this.’

Charlie blinked once more before taking the gun from his hand and nodding.

‘Thanks,’ he said briskly, following it up with a wry smile, ‘Knowing my luck I wouldn’t have noticed it missing till I needed it the most.’

‘No problem,’ Logan muttered, turning his attention back to his cigar.

Charlie smiled.

‘Glad I have you to watch my back, man,’ he said, grinning at Logan companionably.

Logan nodded.

‘It’s what I’m here for,’ he answered.

They were silent for the rest of the journey.


	22. Bargains - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles continues his conversation with Miss Frost.

_Three years and one month ago,_

Charles pulled himself away from the contract at long last, a shudder running through his frame and his mind reeling. 

He couldn’t help but feel rather dazed. He had read the contract from beginning to end, going over every single line and scrutinising every single phrase, in search of … well, he wasn’t quite sure _what_ he had been searching for. A loophole? The small-print? If so, he was massively disappointed on both counts; the contract was iron-clad and – surprisingly – as straightforward as it was possible to be, considering the circumstances. Not that it would have mattered if he _had_ found any inconsistencies, of course; Charles was well aware that the Foundation had him right where they wanted him and that there was nothing that he could do about it. Why they even bothered with contracts at all was a mystery to him.

His eyes involuntarily dipped towards the document once more and he swallowed. Words and phrases that he had read moments before leapt out at him: _four years and eight months_ , the contract had stated over and over again _… relinquishes custody of both physical and mental faculties … Shall remain unconscious and unaware for the duration of the contract … Agrees to the various tasks, acts or assignments set before him whilst placed in our custody ..._

The contract had gone on and on in the same vein for at least eight more pages.

The final few pages, on the other hand, outlined the details of Charles’s ‘payment’ for services rendered: _… the sum of five million dollars only … the Dollhouse shall not prosecute either individual … Miss Darkholme’s release to be effected immediately upon the signing of this document … retaining no memory, knowledge or compulsion … All debts to be paid in full …_

And finally, a sentence that made him shiver: _Exchange of contracts proves final and irrevocable._

Not that Charles would ever think of pulling out, of course. It was just it made things seem so very … well. Final.

_At least this way Raven won’t try anything stupid,_ he tried to console himself. _This way, things won’t devolve into some sort of stupid cycle of selflessness …_

‘Charles?’

The sound of his name made him glance up, his eyes bleary.

Miss Frost was watching him with a polite look of enquiry on her face.

‘Did you read it in full?’ she asked him solicitously. ‘Is everything to your satisfaction?’

Charles suppressed a hysterical laugh. No, he felt like saying, everything was most certainly _not_ to his satisfaction. Things were, in fact, so much not to his satisfaction that he could almost cry. Frankly, he was rather surprised that he wasn’t in tears already.

‘Yes,’ he said calmly. ‘Yes, everything seems to be perfectly fine.’

Emma smiled.

‘Excellent,’ she said, clearly pleased by this. ‘Then we are in agreement?’

Charles swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Five years of your life for five years of your dear sister’s freedom, then,’ Emma mused, watching him carefully. ‘Five years in which you agree to anything and everything that we ask whilst you yourself remain blissfully unaware, after which you will be able to leave with no questions asked, no criminal record – for you or your sister – and considerably more in your bank account … not, of course, that you need it.’

Charles nodded vaguely, still reeling.

‘You are sure, then?’ Emma asked lightly, raising an eyebrow at him. ‘You are certain that you are willing to do this?’

Charles slowly lifted his head and met her eyes.

‘What other choice do I have?’ he asked her helplessly.

Emma held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

‘If you are indeed ready,’ she said after a minute, her tone strangely mild, ‘then it is time to sign the contract.’

Charles opened his mouth to ask for a pen when one was placed before him, even though he had not noticed Miss Frost moving to retrieve it. He looked at it for a moment: the shiny, expensive pen on the dark wood of the desk. Then he reached forward and, insides still numb, opened the cap, laid it down on the desk and, pulling the papers towards him, quickly signed his name.

His hand did not tremble even once.

Emma watched as he finally lifted the pen from the paper and the both of them just stared at the signed document for a moment, as if needing a minute to take in the significance of that one small line of ink.

Then Emma let out a sigh and Charles was roused from his numbness just in time to see her raise a phone – and where on earth had it even come from? – to her ear. She paused for a moment, allowing it to ring through to the other side, before speaking just three words in a clipped tone.

‘It is done,’ she said, before hanging up. Then, still not looking at Charles, she hit a second button on the keypad before once again bringing it up to her ear. Her call was answered after mere seconds.

‘Dr. Essex,’ she said coolly, her tone cold and professional, ‘This is Emma Frost speaking. You have Mystique with you, I presume?’ She paused. ‘Good. Keep her there. Now please go and unlock the master cabinet. Yes, you heard correctly, Doctor – the master cabinet.’ Another pause. ‘You will need to look for a Miss Darkholme,’ she enunciated clearly. ‘Yes, that’s right, Raven Darkholme. Yes, Nathaniel, she is being discharged. No – no more questions. Set her up. Inform me the moment that it is done.’ She hung up.

Charles was staring at her with wide eyes.

‘Was that …’ he trailed off, unable to even voice his question.

Emma raised an eyebrow.

‘Was that about your sister?’ she asked for him. ‘Yes, Mr. Xavier, it was. Don’t look so shocked,’ she allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch upwards. ‘We had a deal, did we not? Your contract for your sister’s. And now that you have signed it …’ she moved her shoulders in an elegant shrug, ‘Well – a deal is a deal, is it not?’

Charles’s mind was reeling. He’d agreed, yes, but somehow he had never truly believed that that would be all. That it would be that easy. Surely he was missing something.

‘And – and she’s free?’ he asked, suspicion only just covering the shivery joy that was racing through his veins. ‘Her contract’s ended and you’ll let her go – just like that?’

‘Just like that. She won’t remember a thing, of course,’ Emma added, looking thoughtful. ‘To her it will be as if she fell asleep one moment and woke up the next. She _will_ probably be slightly disorientated,’ she acknowledged with a slight dip of her head, ‘But we gave her a full medical check-up just this morning and she appears to be in the prime of health. You read that part of your contract, I presume?’ Emma waited for him to nod his head. ‘Well then, you should be fully aware of what happens next. We’ll give Miss Darkholme one more check-up before she goes, hand her the details of her brand new bank account, put her up in a hotel for twenty-four hours where we will monitor her remotely, and then send her on her way.’

‘With no strings attached …?’ Charles could not help the way that his voice lifted up questioningly at the end, but Emma didn’t seem too upset by his doubt.

‘With no strings attached,’ she confirmed with a tilt of her head.

Charles closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. It was done now. He had done it. He had signed the contract. Raven was all but free. And yet … and yet there was still something that needed doing.

He slowly raised his head and met Emma’s eyes.

‘When she wakes up,’ he said carefully, ‘She will not know anything?’

Emma nodded. ‘She will be completely unaware of anything that happened over the past four months. The last thing she will remember is signing the contract and then, perhaps, the face of our Programmer.’

Charles nodded thoughtfully. 

‘So she will not know exactly how much time has passed?’ he asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Emma gave him an odd look.

‘That is correct,’ she answered.

‘So one day or one month or one year could have passed, and she wouldn’t know the difference?’ Charles persisted.

Emma frowned slightly. ‘Well, not immediately,’ she said, her fair eyebrows drawn together, ‘But the moment she steps outside and sees a newspaper or turns on the television …’

‘I understand,’ Charles said quickly, ‘But what I am asking is – she wouldn’t _really_ know, would she? Until she went … outside?’

Emma was eyeing him narrowly now.

‘That is true,’ she said, watching Charles carefully. ‘She wouldn’t know for certain until she was out in the world.’

‘So when she wakes up,’ and here Charles licked his lips nervously, ‘as far as she would be able to tell, her contract would be up? I mean, she wouldn’t be able to tell, would she? The difference, I mean. Between – between five years and …’ he swallowed ‘… four months.’

Emma lifted an eyebrow. She did not answer immediately. When she did, her face was blank.

‘I see,’ she said at last. ‘You are suggesting that we do not inform Miss Darkholme as to your involvement with us, I take it?’

‘Yes,’ Charles nodded his head stiffly before grimacing. ‘Well – not immediately, at any rate. Not until – not until it’s too late. Otherwise -’ his voice broke and he raised a trembling arm to his forehead to push his hair away, ‘Otherwise I’m not sure I’d be able to …’ he trailed off, unable to complete his sentence.

There was a moment of silence.

‘I understand,’ Emma said at last, her voice quiet. She leaned forward then, meeting Charles’s eyes. ‘But I am wondering if _you_ do. Your sister will find out what happened, Charles. She will find out very quickly and I doubt that she will be happy when she does.’

Charles winced but nevertheless seemed to take some sort of strange strength from the words.

‘I know,’ he said, straightening up even as he looked down at his fingers. ‘I understand that she won’t – that she in all probability will never forgive me for this, but-’ he swallowed and looked at Emma beseechingly, ‘but I _have_ to do this. She’s my sister. I’d never let anything happen to her if I could help it. And – in this case – I can. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I simply stood by and allowed her to continue in this way. I just-’ he ran a shuddering hand through his hair ‘-I just want her to go on and lead a normal life. She’s still so very young …’

‘You’re not exactly an old man yourself,’ Emma pointed out in a detached tone.

‘Not according to Raven,’ Charles smiled bleakly. ‘She never did like my cardigans.’

The look on Emma’s face seemed to indicate that she didn’t rate cardigans too highly on her fashion spectrum either. Charles smiled at her expression, before his face fell and the haunted look returned once more.

‘Please,’ he entreated her, leaning forward earnestly, ‘I know that you have no reason to do as I ask, but …’ he faltered, his eyes glancing away for a moment before returning to Emma. ‘I can’t risk her doing or saying anything to dissuade me,’ he said in a firmer tone of voice, ‘and I know my sister well enough to know that she would try. I can’t – there can’t be any loopholes, do you understand?’ He leaned forward intently, his expression fierce and determined. ‘You mustn’t offer her a deal like mine. This has to be final – it _has_ to end with me. Will you promise me that?’

Emma was wearing a very odd expression on her face.

‘… Yes,’ she said after a moment, and though her face was blank there was a sincerity to her words that allowed Charles to let out a sigh of relief, ‘We had never intended to make her a second deal, but I will give you your promise nonetheless. We shall not have any further dealings with Miss Darkholme as of tomorrow. Your sister shall remain free and out of our clutches. I promise you.’

Charles nodded at that, his throat too tight for speech. The room fell into silence.

The quiet was finally broken by Emma, who sounded strangely hesitant for a woman that Charles would have never suspected of being anything other than cool, assured and confident.

‘I know you have no reason to look on me kindly,’ she said quietly as she stared down at the table in front of her, a small wrinkle in the middle of her forehead, ‘But believe me when I say that I take no pleasure from this. This is not how I want things. This is not the way that I choose to do business. The people that we select for this programme usually have little left to lose and everything to gain. You, on the other hand …’ her mouth twisted up into an unhappy curl. ‘You would usually be nowhere near the realm of those we take in.’ She sighed then, in a combination of sadness and exasperation. ‘If only you hadn’t been there that day!’ she said bitterly. ‘If only _he_ wasn’t such a-’ She abruptly stopped herself there and within seconds she was once more the calm, blank-faced woman that he had met at the start of the interview. She shook her head, her blonde hair swaying gently with the movement. ‘Well. Never mind that. What’s done is done.’ She looked up and finally met Charles’s eyes. ‘But one thing I will say, Mr Xavier, even though I understand if it doesn’t mean very much to you, and it is this: I am sorry.’

Charles didn’t respond. There wasn’t really anything that he could say to that. Miss Frost had been right – her apology didn’t mean very much to him. On the other hand, though, he could somewhat appreciate the gesture: Miss Frost was, after all, just doing her job. Was it really her fault if that job was one of the vilest, most loathsome occupations to have ever been conceived? Charles deliberately didn’t allow himself to answer that one.

Just as the silence between them was beginning to become oppressive, the phone that Emma had placed on the desk began to vibrate. Emma immediately reached for it and, pressing a button, brought the phone to her ear.

‘Yes?’ she asked crisply. She waited for a moment before responding. ‘Good. You have her sedated, I gather?’ She paused again. ‘Yes, that is correct. Tomorrow. That is when her release has been scheduled. No, Dr Essex, I will not hear anything further on the matter.’ She was silent for a few brief seconds. ‘Very well. If that is all, then you ought to get started on your final report. And have your assistant – McCoy, isn’t it? – have him send for Dr. MacTaggart. Miss Darkholme will need to be given another once-over before she is released.’ And with that she pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up. 

Charles was biting his lip, an anxious and almost wistful look on his face.

‘Will I get to see her?’ he asked quietly, trying very hard to keep his breathing slow and even. ‘Before – _before_?’

Emma considered before slowly lowering her head in a nod.

‘I think that can be arranged,’ she said softly. She waited until Charles had closed his eyes and nodded before continuing, ‘It will have to be while she is still sedated, of course – as per your own request.’

Charles nodded again, quickly.

Emma cleared her throat.

‘Normally we grant our … _employees_ a grace period of seven days to get their affairs in order,’ she said, speaking slowly as if to make sure that Charles followed her every word. ‘This period can, however, be waived if one so desires it.’ She paused. ‘Your sister, for example, decided that it would be easier for her to waive this right and enter into her contracted time immediately rather than make use of her seven days. It is not an uncommon choice,’ she explained gently at Charles’s stricken look. ‘A great many of our Actives either have nothing left for them outside, or otherwise choose to begin their contract immediately so as to not have it hanging over their head for a week. It is understandable, is it not?’

Charles reluctantly nodded his head.

‘It is up to you what you choose to do,’ Emma continued briskly. ‘You can choose to waive the seven days or you can use them to do whatever it is that you want – indulge in any previously-ignored hedonistic impulses, wrap up your loose ends, say goodbye to your loved ones …’

‘No,’ Charles quickly shook his head, ‘I – I don’t want any of that. Not now. I’m already on leave from the university and Raven’s the only one …’ he swallowed. ‘Raven’s the only person I have,’ he finished helplessly. He shook himself then and straightened up. ‘At most, I think I will need about a day,’ he said, trying to hide his emotions behind sheer pragmatism. ‘Just to put some things in order and say goodbye to a few friends and – and empty out the fridge and-’ he choked suddenly, a startled laugh catching in his throat ‘- put the _bins_ out – oh god, it’s like I’m going on a bloody holiday!’ Slightly hysterical, he pushed a hand through his hair. ‘Next thing you know, I’ll be leaving a note out for the milkman!’ 

Emma didn’t seem to find this funny. She waited until his shuddering had subsided before speaking.

‘You will, of course, be monitored during the time that you spend outside,’ she said formally, and Charles suspected that she had given this speech hundreds of times before. ‘Not obtrusively, of course, but just to ensure that you won’t do something foolish like decide to flee the country.’ She gave him a look as if to say _It’s happened before_.

Charles quickly shook his head.

‘I won’t,’ he promised.

‘Nevertheless,’ Emma smiled thinly. ‘You will have seven days to do whatever needs to be done. At the end of those seven days, you will await us at your residence where someone will be sent to escort you here. Any attempt to do otherwise will be dealt with accordingly.’ She did not elaborate further. ‘If, however, you decide to end your time outside prematurely, all you need to do is present yourself at the gates of the Shaw Foundation headquarters, and we will take things from there. Otherwise, simply call this number,’ and here she produced a plain white business card with a single line of digits on it before handing it over to Charles, ‘and let us know where you want to be picked up, and we will come for you.’

Charles cautiously took the card and, glancing at it briefly, put it into his pocket.

There was silence. Charles waited for a moment before shifting about in his seat awkwardly.

‘Is that it, then?’ he asked, hesitant.

Emma cocked her head.

‘That depends,’ she said. ‘Do you have anything that you want to ask me?’

Charles thought for a moment but his mind was blank. He knew that he would probably kick himself for this later, but at the moment all he really wanted to do was to see Raven and make sure that she was okay. Curiosity could come later – Raven, as in all things, came first.

Emma seemed to realise this as she barely waited for Charles to open his mouth to decline before she had stood up from her seat, taking Charles by surprise.

‘Very well, then,’ she said calmly, arching an eyebrow at Charles when he just sat there and stared at her. ‘If you still desire to see your sister …’

‘Of course!’ Charles immediately leapt to his feet, wobbling slightly as he stood, no doubt dizzy from both the sudden movement as well as the events of the past few hours. ‘Please – take me to her.’

Emma nodded at that and, waiting for Charles to step away from the desk, turned on her heel and marched towards the door. The door slid open the moment she reached it, and Charles could see the barest flick of a hand as the guard outside saluted at Miss Frost’s presence. She waited for Charles to follow her out of the room before turning to him with a cold, sharp smile.

‘Mr. Xavier,’ she said, lifting her arm and gesturing about her, and Charles was suddenly aware that he wasn’t standing on the floor of an ordinary building’s basement, but on the ground floor of an immense, bustling nerve-centre filled with hundreds of people. ‘Welcome to the Dollhouse.’


	23. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven wakes up.
> 
>  
> 
> Takes place almost immediately after 'Bargains' (Parts One and Two)

_Three years, three months and three and a half weeks ago,_

Raven woke up with a start. She blinked for a moment, her mind vacant and her thoughts fuzzy. Then she remembered what had happened right before she had fallen asleep and she immediately jerked up, her back going ramrod straight and her heart pounding. 

The last place she had been was a dark room in the basement of the Shaw Foundation headquarters. 

The very last thing she had done was sign herself away to the Dollhouse.

As if on cue, a voice cut through the vague, tangled jumble of emotions that was threatening to swamp Raven entirely, causing her to realise that she was not, as she had first believed, alone in the room.

‘Good morning, Miss Darkholme,’ said the voice, and Raven turned her head to see one of the most terrifyingly beautiful women that she had ever seen sat in an armchair a few feet away from the bed, looking very much as if she owned everything in sight. 

From what little that Raven knew of her, she probably did.

‘The fuck do you want?’ she growled out, her hands involuntarily fisting into the sheets of her bed and her eyes narrowing.

The woman in the armchair reacted only by idly raising a pale-blonde eyebrow.

‘You remember me, I see,’ she said serenely, her body so still that she could have been carved from ice for all the movement she made. ‘Do you by chance recall my name?’

As if Raven could ever forget it. Her expression said as much.

‘Frost,’ she spat out after a moment, her mouth twisting. ‘Emma Frost.’

The woman smiled at that.

‘Correct,’ she said, pleased. ‘Although I suppose that for you it hasn’t been so very long since I introduced myself, yes?’

Raven’s eyes only narrowed further and she fixed Frost with her fiercest scowl.

‘Where am I?’ she demanded, tensing her shoulders. ‘How long have I been here?’

If the woman was at all perturbed by Raven’s obvious hostility then she showed no signs of it. 

‘Not long,’ she replied nonchalantly, gazing coolly at her fingernails. ‘Just a few hours or so. And as for where you are, well you are obviously in a hotel room. A very nice hotel room, I might add.’

Raven took the opportunity to cast her eyes around her and was forced to acknowledge that yes, it was indeed a very nice hotel room.

That being settled, Raven opened her mouth to demand a further explanation when there came a knock on the door that instantly made her freeze.

Emma, on the other hand, smiled.

‘Right on time,’ she said, pleased. Then, raising her voice, she called out to the person on the other side. ‘Come in!’

There was a pause and then the handle of the door turned and in walked a tall, gawky looking man with a sheepish expression on his face and a medical bag in his hand.

Emma’s expression was blank as she watched the man enter the room.

‘Mr. McCoy,’ she finally said, her tone betraying nothing. ‘You are here. And alone, I see.’

The young man – McCoy – flushed at that and had a hard time meeting Frost’s eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said, shifting awkwardly. ‘I – I’m afraid that Dr. Essex was … unavailable.’ His face turned even redder as he said this.

Emma’s lips thinned.

‘I see,’ she said evenly. ‘I shall need to have a word with dear Nathaniel after this, it seems. I should hate for him to _overwork_ himself, after all.’

McCoy twitched uncomfortably and looked down at the floor. 

Emma sighed.

‘Very well,’ she said dryly, waving an elegant hand at him. ‘You may attend to Miss Darkholme now, Mr. McCoy.’

McCoy, clearly relieved to have been dismissed by Miss Frost and her cold-eyed stare, hurried eagerly over to the bed where he set his medical bag down before reaching into his shirt pocket to retrieve a penlight. Grasping it with his right hand, he then reached out with his left to steady Raven’s face in order to look into her eyes. Before he could so much as brush against her skin, however, the girl on the bed whipped her head back and pushed away from him as far as was possible, eyeing him with a look of intense dislike.

‘What the fuck do you think you are doing?’ she snapped from the other side of the bed, eyeing the man in front of her with anger and suspicion.

McCoy blinked, looking astonished.

‘I – I’m giving you a check-up,’ he said, sounding slightly bewildered. ‘I – Dr. MacTaggart already gave you a physical, and Dr. Essex isn’t availa-’

‘That’s not what I mean!’ Raven snapped, glaring at the unfortunate boy. She turned to face Emma, her expression thunderous. ‘Who the fuck is _this_ clown?’

McCoy began to babble something at her but one look from Miss Frost quickly shut him up.

‘Henry here is one of our doctors,’ Emma said easily, turning to face Raven. ‘He’s here to do a quick mental assessment to make sure that the procedure has gone smoothly and that your brain has readjusted to the changes. I’ll grant that he may look very young, but I assure you that he is incredibly competent,’ she paused and cast McCoy another glance, ‘even if he may not appear so.’

McCoy flushed yet again and Raven felt a slight surge of pity well up inside of her despite herself. Instead of allowing herself to relent, however, she fixed her eyes firmly on Miss Frost, watching her closely. ‘Why?’ she asked challengingly, ‘Is there something wrong with me?’

‘Goodness, no,’ Emma waved away the suggestion immediately. ‘It’s merely standard protocol. Just a final check-up before we set you free. Nothing to worry about at all, I assure you.’

But Raven hadn’t heard the last sentence. Her mind was still stuck on the words uttered just shortly before that. She didn’t even seem to breathe for a moment, her mind replaying those three words over and over again. _Set you free_ , Frost had said … she was going to be allowed to _leave_. She was being set free. 

Feeling slightly dazed, she turned to look at Emma, who was watching her with an air of studied detachment, looking for all the world as if her words hadn’t been of the least importance. Before Raven could open her mouth to say anything, however, McCoy swooped down in front of her, holding out the penlight with a timid expression.

‘May I?’ he asked hopefully, holding his left hand out towards her face.

Raven blinked, her thoughts momentarily derailed, and then slowly nodded. McCoy beamed at her before reaching forward and clasping her face with a gentle hand. The gesture seemed strangely familiar and Raven frowned slightly, before shaking her head.

‘Any dizziness?’ McCoy was asking, shining the light into her eyes and following the movement of her pupils closely. ‘Headaches? Nausea?’

Raven shook her head.

‘Any strange urges?’ McCoy persisted. ‘Odd recollections? Lost memories?’

Raven again replied in the negative.

The tests went on for some time – McCoy, it seemed, was actually perfectly competent and capable when it mattered, and Raven strangely grew somewhat reassured by his presence, even going so far as to almost forget that the two of them were not alone in the room.

At long last, McCoy straightened up and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

‘Well,’ he said, looking down at Raven, ‘Everything seems to be in order. The procedure seems to have gone smoothly enough and there don’t seem to be any problems with your long-term or short-term memory … I think it’s quite safe to say that everything is fine here.’ He smiled at Raven, who couldn’t stop herself from tentatively smiling back, causing McCoy to fidget. ‘Sorry about earlier,’ he apologised, gesturing with his hands, ‘about just-’ he moved his hand towards her face again to demonstrate. ‘I didn’t mean to impose. I guess I’ve been so used to just touching you without thinking when we’re Programming, that-’

Raven’s smile fell and McCoy froze, stuttering slightly.

‘I – I didn’t mean _touching_ like that, I meant-’

‘Mr. McCoy,’ Miss Frost said abruptly, suddenly seeming to tower from where she was still sat in her chair. ‘Get out.’

‘Oh, but I didn’t-’ McCoy stumbled, sounding upset, but Emma’s scathing look quickly silenced him.

‘Leave us, Mr. McCoy,’ Emma said coldly, her eyes fixed on Raven’s tense form. ‘I will talk to you shortly. For now, I have more important things to deal with.’

McCoy nodded hurriedly at that and with one last mournful look at Raven and a quick murmured apology, he turned and all but fled from the room, shutting the door closed behind him.

Silence reigned for a few minutes before Raven finally looked up from where she had been staring blankly into the sheets of her bed.

‘So,’ she said quietly, her voice strangely toneless, but she was interrupted by Miss Frost before she could go any further.

‘I promise you, Miss Darkholme,’ she said crisply, ‘that all of our staff are _extremely_ well-behaved. None of our staff would have ever dreamed of laying one finger on any of our Actives, and Henry McCoy in particular would not-’

Raven spun around, her expression suddenly furious.

‘Do you think I care about _him_?’ she spat, mouth twisted in anger. ‘Do you think that _he’s_ the one I’m worried about? When all this time …’ she swallowed then, suddenly unable to continue.

Emma watched steadily as Raven’s breath hitched every few seconds, only moving to speak when the other was suitably calmed down.

‘I know it’s a lot to take in,’ she said carefully, her tone oddly gentle. ‘But you’ll be alright. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. Nothing happened to you – not really. You were never _there_ , after all. Whatever may have happened in the past is over; none of that matters now.’

Raven let out a dry sob, her throat constricting in on itself.

‘How can you say that?’ she asked bitterly, wiping angrily at her cheeks. ‘How can you say that none of it matters? That I wasn’t there? I _was_! It was _me_!’

‘Was it?’ Emma raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Do you remember any of it, Miss Darkholme? Were you present for any of it?’ She paused when she received no answer. ‘What was the last thing that you remember?’

‘I-’ Raven swallowed. ‘I remember signing the contract and – and sitting in that chair and closing my eyes. And then I woke up.’

‘And then you woke up,’ Emma repeated. ‘And that is all that happened, Raven. _That_ is your life. Anything that happened in between? It wasn’t you. How could it be you? You were never there.’

Raven stared. Then she slowly closed her eyes and let out a breath, steadying herself. She couldn’t say that she was at all convinced by Frost’s bullshit reasoning but the woman’s cool and matter-of-fact behaviour seemed to have a calming effect on her. She kept her eyes closed until she felt that she was once more in control of herself. There would be time for tears and anger later, she told herself. For now, she would carry on. She wouldn’t show any further weakness in front of Frost. Not if she could help it.

‘Okay,’ she said, finally lifting her head and wiping her arm across her face. ‘Okay, I get it. So – now what?’

Emma didn’t speak immediately, choosing to study Raven instead. Then, when it seemed that she was finally satisfied that Raven wasn’t going to burst into another bout of angry tears, she began to speak.

‘Now?’ she repeated thoughtfully, ‘Now, it’s up to you.’ She paused before meeting Raven’s eyes. ‘You are free, Miss Darkholme,’ she said quietly. ‘Completely and utterly free. The moment that I leave this room our mutual obligations to each other will come to an end and all your association with the Dollhouse will be concluded. You’ll be able to do whatever you like free from any and all interference from us for the rest of your life. You are free now, Miss Darkholme. Absolutely free.’

There was silence.

Raven struggled to speak.

‘And – and the criminal charges,’ she managed after a minute, her throat working hard, ‘The threats. Against me and – and my brother. It’s – it’s all over?’

‘It’s over,’ Emma confirmed, her voice so certain that Raven had no choice but to believe her. ‘It’s been taken care of.’

Raven nodded, swallowing. Then she closed her eyes and turned her face away, unable to look at Frost. 

It was over. It was all over. It was finally done. She was free. She could leave, she could go home, she could – her throat tightened – she could see _Charles_ , and oh Charles! How he must have worried! What did he think he had happened to her? She couldn’t even imagine. Five years … She would go to him immediately, she decided; she had left it long enough. She had been too much of a coward to face him when she had signed her life away to the Dollhouse, but no longer; she would go to him and confess everything and then promise to never, ever, _ever_ leave him again …

‘Right,’ she said then, straightening her spine and turning to face Emma, a determined expression on her face. ‘Right then. Let’s get this over with. I have things to do and I – I have someone waiting for me.’

Emma blinked and her expression seemed to flicker for a moment before she nodded and sat forward in her chair.

‘Very well,’ she said, reaching over to pick up an ivory-white bag from the floor before pulling out a sheaf of paper from within it. ‘Let us finish this.’ She then got up from her seat and made her way over to the bed where Raven sat. ‘All you need to do is sign these documents and then, once we are done, I will walk out of that door and you will never see me again.’

‘Promise?’ Raven couldn’t resist muttering under her breath.

Emma’s mouth twitched slightly but she remained otherwise expressionless.

‘Indeed,’ she said primly. ‘Once I leave this room you will never see me again and this whole nightmare will be over.’

‘Just like that?’ Raven asked sceptically.

This time Emma did smile, a strange, wry thing full of reluctant amusement.

‘Just like that,’ she confirmed, lips curled up as if at some private joke.

Raven watched her suspiciously for a moment before sighing and shrugging her shoulders.

‘Whatever,’ she said with deceptive lightness. ‘Just give me a pen and I’ll sign the damn things. I am _so_ ready to be out of here.’

A pen appeared at her side as if by magic and Raven blinked, but nodded her acknowledgement as she took the pen and turned to the first of the papers.

The majority of the paperwork consisted of a series of standard non-disclosure clauses followed by thinly-veiled threats of what would happen should she reveal anything about the Dollhouse to third parties and outsiders. Raven read through these carefully, taking her time to puzzle out the language and memorise it. Then, once that was done, she lifted the pen and, feeling a little like she was signing the Official Secrets Act, signed her name at the bottom.

There were several other similarly-worded documents that Raven read with equal attention. By the time she had finished it was late afternoon and her eyes had begun to ache in their sockets.

‘There,’ she said at last, signing the final document with a flourish and then shoving the entire pile towards Miss Frost. ‘There, I’m done. Now take them and go. I’m going to take a nap and then I’m going to see what the future’s like. I’m hoping for flying cars,’ she said flippantly. ‘Or maybe aliens or something.’

Miss Frost paused in her collection of the papers.

‘If that is the case,’ she said slowly, ‘I will warn you that you will be exceedingly disappointed. For more than one reason.’

Raven gave a soft snort.

‘I guess I’ll just have to wait and see,’ she said. ‘Now, if we’re all done here …’

‘Just a few more things,’ Emma said evenly. ‘And then, as I said before, you and I will never see each other again.’ She straightened up and regarded Raven sternly. ‘Firstly, we have created a bank account in your name in which we have deposited the payment for your services. On this card,’ and here she took a small white card from out of her purse and handed it to Raven, ‘is both the name of the bank and your account number. You should have no problems accessing your money at any time that you desire. Secondly,’ Emma continued, ‘you should be aware that, as stated in the contract, we will be monitoring your finances and electronic communications for a certain period of time. This is for your own safety and security as well as ours; we need to make sure that your time with us has left you no problems or discomfort, after all, as well as with no sudden urges to speak to any overly-friendly journalists. Finally,’ Emma looked up at Raven, ‘you should know that this hotel room has been booked and paid for under your name indefinitely. It is yours to do as you wish with until you find alternative accommodation.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Raven said quickly, shaking her head. ‘Like I said, I have someone who’s waiting for me.’

‘Hmm,’ Emma hummed thoughtfully, ‘Then you are very lucky, Miss Darkholme.’

Raven cocked her head.

‘Lucky?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Yes,’ Emma said lightly, her face angled away as she turned to look through the documents, ‘Lucky to have someone who loves you so very much.’

‘I guess,’ Raven said slowly, feeling slightly confused. ‘I – yes. Yes, I am.’

Emma dipped her head.

‘As long as you know it,’ she said, before straightening up. ‘Well, that seems to be all in order. I trust that everything has been concluded to the satisfaction of all the parties involved.’

Raven shrugged. ‘You got what you wanted from me and I’m just glad to see the back of you, so yeah, whatever. I guess it has.’

Emma smiled thinly.

‘Quite,’ she said, before turning around and walking away from the bed. She paused when she came to the armchair, however, and pulled her bag close to her. ‘Before I leave,’ she said nonchalantly, carefully pulling something from within it, ‘Allow me leave you a copy of today’s newspaper to peruse at your leisure. So you can – how did you put it? _See what the future’s like_ , I think you said.’

‘…Right,’ Raven frowned slightly. ‘Thanks, I guess.’

‘You are welcome,’ Emma dipped her head once in acknowledgement before moving towards the door. ‘Goodbye, Miss Darkholme. You and I will not see each other ever again. Nevertheless,’ she lifted her eyes to meet Raven’s, ‘I wish you well. Truly, I do. I understand that it will be some time before you fully understand and accept what has happened here but when you do, I hope that you are able to make peace with it and move on with your life. Believe me, it does no good to dwell on things that cannot be changed.’ She then turned and reached for the door. ‘Farewell, Miss Darkholme,’ she said, and then, pulling the door open, she stepped through the doorway and out of Raven’s life.

Raven stared at the doorway for a good few minutes, not knowing what to say. Then, with a blink, realisation dawned on her once more: she was free. The whole ordeal was over without her even knowing it and she was finally, finally, free. Letting out a burst of weak laughter, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving. Suddenly she felt exhausted. She didn’t know how much time had passed in Miss Frost’s company but it was now getting dark and all of her previous tension and anxiety was finally catching up with her. Before she knew it, her eyes were closing and then, when she next opened them, it was morning. She had slept through the entire night without waking once.

It was a while before eventually dragged herself from the bed, but she at last managed to do so. She then proceeded to spend a truly ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom, washing herself thoroughly and carefully mapping her body for any changes. There were none. She didn’t even appear to be any older despite having lost five years to the Dollhouse. No deepening lines, no crows feet, nothing. She smiled. Charles would no doubt take the opportunity to say something about the grooviness of her genes.

And all of a sudden she was hit with a pang of yearning so strong that it almost brought her to her knees. She knew that for her it had only been a short while but still she missed Charles with such a fierce longing that it almost crippled her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it had been like for him: while she had only had to wait through what felt like a few days, for Charles it would have been years. Five whole years. She almost trembled at the thought. So much would be different. The world wouldn’t stop turning just for her, after all.

It was then that she remembered the newspaper left behind by Miss Frost and she felt a surge of thankfulness that she had done so. The hotel room had a television, of course, but there was something about a newspaper that was more solid – more reliable. Quickly pulling on a fluffy white bathrobe, Raven tied the belt around her waist and made her way over to the armchair where Miss Frost had been sitting.

The newspaper was waiting for her, folded and crisp and clean. Raven bent to pick it up but as she did so, something from the middle of the paper was knocked loose and it fell to the floor at her feet. Raven frowned in mild irritation – it seemed that newspapers still had unwanted inserts even after five years – before bending down and picking up the fallen object. Her frown only deepened when she saw that it was a pristine white envelope that she held in her hand and not a random flyer as she had expected. Her surprise was all the greater when she turned the envelope over, only to see that it was addressed to her. There was just one word on the front and it was her name: Raven.

Something about the writing made her feel abruptly cold. It looked familiar – far, far too familiar. Her heart suddenly beating wildly in her chest, she clutched at the envelope, feeling it. It was thin, very thin – whatever it was, it contained no more than one single sheet of paper.

Something made her pull her eyes away from the envelope and then slowly, so slowly that it felt almost inevitable, she turned her gaze on the newspaper.

Her eyes immediately zeroed in on the topmost line, on the date.

She stared.

No … no … that couldn’t be right. 

Quickly she ripped through the pages of the newspaper but each and every one of them declared the same date as the first page. Each news item that her eyes flickered across only confirmed it.

Heart high in her throat and fear and desperation clawing at her, Raven’s eyes then fell back on the envelope. She hesitated for a moment before dropping the newspaper and then tearing the envelope open.

Inside, as she had guessed, was a single sheet of paper. 

It was a letter.

And, as her eyes scanned the first line on the top of the page, her mouth dropped open and she screamed.


	24. Deposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Raven talk through what happened.

‘I’ve got the letter with me now,’ Raven said quietly, her voice trembling slightly as she pressed her hand across her chest. ‘I always carry it with me, so I – so I never forget why I’m out here.’ She paused. Her next words were hesitant, tremulous. ‘Do – do you want to read it?’

Erik, who had sat in silence throughout the whole recitation of Raven’s story, slowly brought his eyes down to where her hand was protectively huddled against her chest. There was never any doubt in his mind whether or not he ought to read the letter. He _wanted_ to read it. To read something of Charles’s … the temptation was more than enough. But to read a letter that he had written to his sister immediately prior to his disappearance? The information within might very well prove invaluable.

Slowly, he nodded his head.

‘I think I ought to,’ he said gently, trying to conceal any feelings of over-eagerness or misplaced enthusiasm.

But Raven simply nodded and, reaching into the folds of her shirt, gently drew out a small white envelope from somewhere within. Grasping it carefully with both of his hands, Erik took the envelope from her and brought it towards him. Then, with bated breath, he gingerly opened the envelope and drew out the paper within.

It had been over three years since the letter had been written and, although obviously well-kept and treasured, the paper showed signs of wear and tear around the edges. Erik carefully he unfolded the letter, determined not to cause any further damage to it. Then, holding it by the edges, he cast his eyes upon the large curling letters and began to read.

The letter was short:

_My darling Raven,_ it said.

_By the time you read this you will undoubtedly have realised that five years have not passed and that the terms of your contract have been somewhat altered. Perhaps by now you have even discovered that I am not (as I once jokingly promised you I would always be) waiting for you at home like the overbearing, old-fashioned brother that you have forever accused me of being. I also suspect that, in reading this letter, whatever small suspicions that you may have had have now been confirmed, if they haven’t been already by our mutual acquaintance, Miss Frost._

_However, before I continue any further, I feel the need to stress this one point that I fear you might overlook in your concern for me: Raven, I chose this. This was solely my decision and as much as I know that you will detest it – will detest **me** for it – I could not do anything less. You have trusted me all your life, my darling – I can only hope that you are able to trust me again when I say that no one else is to blame for this. I alone decided and so I alone must take the blame._

_That being said: I am sorry. I am so very sorry. Please forgive me, dearest. You will curse and rage at me for doing this, but alas – I am a terribly selfish man. Unable to bear the thought of you in such a vile place, I selfishly sought to trade positions so that it is now you who has to bear the brunt of the pain and the fear whilst I rest unburdened. I know what you must think of me, Raven, but you were always stronger than me; where I would crumble and head for the bottle as our dear mother did, you, I know, will carry on. That is all that I wish for you, my darling: for you to carry on. Forget me, if you can; for these five years, at least. Do everything that you ever wanted that I was too afraid – too cowardly – to let you do. Live the way that you were meant to, and try not to think of me. We will be back together soon, dearest. Five years, is, after all, not so very long._

_Never forget that I love you,_

_Your brother,_

_Charles F. Xavier_

Erik was silent. He read it again – twice, thrice more. Then he gently folded the letter and carefully inserted it back into its envelope. Making sure that it was safely inside, he then slowly reached out and passed the envelope back to Raven, who received it with a similarly grave silence.

Erik cleared his throat awkwardly.

‘It’s …’ he searched for a suitable word to describe what he had read. ‘It’s …’

‘It’s a crock of shit,’ Raven interrupted him before he could settle on any appropriate word. She forced out a ragged laugh at Erik’s look of surprise. ‘I love my brother very much, Erik, but I swear to god that he is also the stupidest, most self-righteous, interfering, god-awful prick that the world has ever seen.’

Erik’s eyebrows drew down at that. Raven watched him knowingly.

‘I know you don’t want to hear it,’ she said with a shrug, smiling grimly. ‘But it’s the truth. He’s a bastard. A goddamn stupid bastard who thinks he knows better than everyone else about absolutely _everything_. Never mind that it was _my_ decision, that it was _my_ life! No, he had to come swooping in and save poor little Raven just as always. “ _I am a terribly selfish man_ ” he says – goddamn right, he is! Bastard,’ she spat, but Erik could see that she actually looked very close to tears. ‘He had no fucking right.’

Erik reached out to gingerly pat her on the knee and she seized his hand tightly, squeezing it with her fist as if for reassurance. They stayed like that for a while, neither of them speaking, but silently leaning on each other as they each immersed themselves in their thoughts.

‘I’m going to get him out,’ Raven said suddenly in a small voice, breaking Erik out of his gloomy reverie. ‘I’m not going to let him continue with this idiocy – I’m not going to let him continue to be a fucking martyr. I won’t.’

‘Yes,’ Erik said, patting her hand.

‘It’s been long enough,’ Raven continued, almost seeming to be oblivious of Erik’s presence at her side. ‘Too much time has been wasted. I need to get Charles out. Now.’

‘Soon,’ Erik tightened his grip on Raven’s knee. ‘Not just yet, but soon.’

Raven’s eyes cut to him with a sudden look of fury which disappeared in the next instant as Raven got a hold of herself.

‘You’re right,’ she said with effort. ‘Perhaps not just yet. But soon.’

‘Soon,’ Erik repeated. Then, after a pause, he said more cautiously, ‘Raven, this person that your brother mentions in the letter – this Miss Frost. I don’t recall you having mentioned her name when you were telling me about her. Do you by any chance remember what her first name was?’

Raven didn’t answer immediately. Her mouth was pursed and she almost seemed to be having some sort of internal debate within herself. Finally, she grimaced and dropped her head in a stiff little nod.

‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I do. It was Emma. Emma Frost.’

Erik nodded, quickly tucking this piece of information away in his head. He deliberately tried not to wonder why Raven had neglected to share the name with him when telling her story.

‘You won’t find anything,’ Raven said abruptly. ‘You can try to find her but you probably won’t. She’ll have covered her tracks. No one will have the slightest clue who she is. Strange, really, considering that she looked like she’d just walked off a runway.’ Raven’s face twisted into a grimace as she turned to look at Erik. ‘She was stunning, you know. I mean, _really_ fucking beautiful in a cold, ice-queen sort of way. Pale and blonde and gorgeous.’ The bitter look in Raven’s eye did not match her appreciative words. ‘Like a fucking angel, all in white.’

Erik watched her for a moment.

‘Could you perhaps describe her face, if you remember it?’ he asked quietly, his eyes fixed intently on her face. ‘Put together a composite with one of the sketch artists?’

Raven merely shrugged.

‘Sure,’ she answered carelessly. ‘Why not. It won’t matter. You won’t find anything on her. You didn’t exactly find anything on Shaw either.’

Erik’s heart started to beat faster.

‘Shaw?’ he asked in a deliberately mild tone. ‘Did this Frost woman ever say anything to you about him?’

Raven shook her head impatiently before suddenly stilling, a wary look crossing her face before she turned to Erik.

‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘No, she didn’t say anything.’

‘But you knew he was involved?’ Erik pressed. ‘Before we got the anonymous letter – you knew he was involved in the Dollhouse?’

Raven let go of Erik’s hand and turned to glare at him.

‘What is this, an interrogation?’ she asked sharply.

‘You know it isn’t,’ Erik replied, barely able to conceal his impatience. ‘It’s just that you knew that there was something strange going on with the Shaw Foundation and it was only by breaking into their headquarters that you found the Dollhouse-’

‘ _They_ found _me_ ,’ Raven corrected him, her eyes narrowed.

‘Yes,’ Erik continued. ‘But then you must have already known that Sebastian Shaw was involved – that he was behind this whole damned enterprise!’

Raven ripped herself away from Erik’s side, a flurry of emotions crossing her face.

‘You _are_ interrogating me!’ she breathed, her eyes wide.

‘No,’ Erik said calmly, ‘I am not.’

‘You are!’ Raven’s eyes narrowed and it was clear that she was getting worked up. ‘You keep _glaring_ at me and asking me _questions_ and _accusing_ me of-’

‘No one’s accusing anybody of anything!’ Erik snapped, unable to reign in his temper. ‘For god’s sake, Raven, don’t start this again. I’m trying to _help_ you!’

Raven fell silent at that, Erik’s words seemingly bringing her back to herself. She still looked slightly wary of Erik, however, as if she were afraid that he was going to turn on her when she wasn’t looking.

Erik sighed.

‘Raven,’ he said in as gentle a voice as he could manage. ‘I promise, I am not attacking you or interrogating you. I just want the same thing that you want.’ He paused. ‘I want to find Charles.’

Raven’s shoulders slumped at that and she nodded, shifting back so that she was closer to Erik.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I just – I guess I was so used to keeping everything a secret for so long that I didn’t really … I don’t know. Yes,’ she finally said, raising her chin and looking Erik straight in the eyes. ‘Yes, I knew that Shaw was involved. Well – I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected. It _is_ the _Shaw_ Foundation, after all – how could he not? And then there was Charles.’ Her face darkened. ‘Charles had met Shaw much before this – at one of his boring university events, I think it was. He mentioned then that Shaw had been all – well, _skeevy_ is probably the right word. Said that Shaw had kept hitting on him the whole way through and was really disgustingly obvious about it. _Pushy_ , even.’

Erik felt like someone had dropped a bucket of ice down the back of his shirt. His stomach twisted and he deliberately tamped down on the pang of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He had always known that what had happened to Charles was wrong but if Raven was suggesting what he thought that she was suggesting …

‘You know what I think?’ Raven was saying, her expression carefully blank even though Erik could see the way that her eyes blazed with molten fury as she spoke, ‘I think that everything that happened to us was Shaw’s fault. I think that Shaw had his eye on Charles way before they even met.’ She paused. ‘Charles was a geneticist, you know. A full-fledged professor of genetics and a brilliant scientist to boot. And he _was_ brilliant,’ she said, turning to Erik, and there was a fierce pride etched deep into her face. ‘Truly brilliant. Always at the forefront of ground-breaking research, winning awards left and right … I’m not surprised that Shaw wanted him. For his Foundation, I mean. At least – I reckon that’s probably how it was at first.’ She grimaced, a spike of pain entering her features. ‘And then – and then he actually met Charles and decided that he wanted him even more, only for a completely different reason.’

Erik swallowed, unable to speak. He was torn between feeling abject horror at Charles’s situation and unbridled anger and disgust at Sebastian Shaw. Whatever he had felt for the man before on discovering him to be the founder of the Dollhouse was nothing compared to the loathing that Erik now felt for him; the fact that he had never even met the man mattered little.

Raven was still speaking, unmindful of Erik’s seething rage, her eyes glassy and unfocused. 

‘The thing is,’ she was saying, sounding very small and young, ‘I’ve been thinking about it and I’m not sure that Charles even _knew_ that Shaw was behind this. I mean – of course he knew that Shaw wanted him, and I’m sure that he must have realised that the Shaw _Foundation_ was behind the Dollhouse, but I don’t think that he ever put the two together. Not _really_. I don’t think he realised why it was that they _allowed_ a trade in the first place.’ Raven choked a little, bringing her hands to her eyes. ‘I don’t think that it even occurred to him that he was being specifically targeted, that not only would someone want him that much, but that they would go to such lengths to get what they wanted. He just – he would never have _dreamed_ that people could be so evil.’

Erik felt his hands tighten into fists. He hated that even as his mind revolted at that thought of what was happening to Charles, his heart couldn’t help but silently rejoice to hear that Charles Xavier appeared to be as good as he had always imagined him to be. Erik’s mind then flickered over to the smiling image affixed to the wall of his apartment and insides twisted painfully. It was hard enough for him to picture what Charles might be going through. He couldn’t even imagine what Raven must be feeling.

‘He was always so very determined on trying to protect me from everything,’ Raven said numbly, staring down at her hands. ‘He’d never let me out of the house, if he had his way.’ She turned and gave Erik a faint smile. ‘The product of having to act like the grown-up when our parents couldn’t be bothered, I’m afraid. He was a very serious child, you know. Took his responsibilities towards me very seriously. He never seemed to realise that _he_ was the one who might need looking after – not as a child, and certainly not as an adult.’

She fell silent after a moment and neither of them spoke for a good few minutes. When Raven did next speak, however, her voice was low and barely audible.

‘The worst thing is,’ she whispered hoarsely, her face looking white and brittle, ‘That I can’t stop thinking of what it’s like for Charles when Shaw comes to him. Does he know, do you think? Would Shaw want that, for Charles to be himself when he …’ she choked and turned her face away for a moment. ‘Or would he prefer someone else entirely; just a pretty, docile little doll in a Charles costume?’

Erik, although he felt sick inside, finally forced himself to speak.

‘You shouldn’t think like that,’ he growled, staring angrily at the floor. 

Raven gave a hopeless little laugh.

‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘The only one it’s hurting is me.’

Erik scowled.

‘It’s not-’ he began, before shaking his head and starting again. ‘Thinking like that won’t help you find him,’ he said in a gentle voice.

Raven was silent for a moment. Then she slowly raised her head and looked him straight in the eye.

‘No,’ she agreed evenly. ‘No, it won’t help me to find him. But it _will_ help me for when I finally find Shaw and _rip_ his fucking _heart_ out.’

And Erik, who couldn’t find it in himself to disagree, said nothing.


	25. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan begins to re-evaluate his position.

‘Absolutely not.’

Logan glared down the table at Emma, who was wearing an expression that was somehow both detached yet forceful. ‘Why the hell not?’ he growled, narrowing his eyes and leaning heavily on the desk in front of him, his muscles taut with tension.

Emma raised an eyebrow.

‘Do I really have to answer that question, Mr. Howlett?’ she asked calmly. ‘Here I was, thinking that you would much rather spend your time monitoring Charlie on his Assignments than leading some – frankly very boring – surveillance on a run-of-the-mill police officer … but perhaps I was wrong. I don’t suppose that you’ve grown tired of poor Charlie so very soon, have you?’

‘I’d be running surveillance on Charles’s _stalker_ ,’ Logan said tightly, forcing himself to ignore the jibe about his interest in his Active. ‘That hardly makes him _run-of-the-mill_ , Frost. And I was thinking more on the lines of splitting my time. It’s not like Charles is _always_ on Assignment.’

‘He is more often than not,’ Emma replied coldly. ‘And you know better than most that some of these Assignments are scheduled at the very last minute. I am afraid that we simply cannot to afford to have your attention split in such a way, Mr. Howlett.’

Logan let out a growl of irritation, grimacing as he realised the truth in her words.

‘At least tell me who is in charge of the surveillance,’ he finally said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His expression darkened, however, when he saw the slightest flicker of _something_ on Frost’s face. Slowly, he lowered his arms. ‘There _is_ surveillance, isn’t there?’ At Emma’s blank expression he slammed his hand down on the table. ‘Goddammit, Frost, _please_ tell me we’ve got some fucking surveillance on the nut-job who’s obsessed with my goddamn Active!’

Emma’s face immediately hardened.

‘Watch yourself, Mr. Howlett,’ she said coldly, straightening up in her seat with an imperious lift of her chin. ‘And no, we do not have a team on Lehnsherr.’ At Logan’s thunderous expression, she added, ‘ _He_ , I’m afraid, is not the priority here.’

Logan couldn’t tell whether the “he” in question was Charles or Lehnsherr, but either way Emma’s meaning angered him.

‘What do you mean he’s not the priority?’ he barked, all but baring his teeth at her. ‘That sonofabitch is a threat to _my_ Active and he damn well _is_ a goddamn priority to _me_!’

Emma’s eyes narrowed.

‘You are getting far too possessive about _our_ Active, Mr. Howlett,’ she said icily. ‘Might I remind you that he belongs to the Dollhouse, and not to you personally?’

‘And might I remind _you_ that you’re the one who put _me_ in charge of him when you recruited me to this damn madhouse!’ Logan snarled. ‘Or was all that talk about putting the Active’s needs ahead of your own just that - _talk_?’

Emma grimaced.

‘It was not,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘And you are right – I apologise.’ She sighed then, suddenly looking tired. ‘I think I owe you an explanation for my attitude towards this, Mr. Howlett. I think it is time that I tell you what happened three years ago.’

Logan went still, suddenly alert. Slowly, he straightened up.

‘Well then,’ he said coolly, his eyes not leaving Emma’s. ‘What happened three years ago?’

Emma didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her mouth was twisted into a grimace.

‘Tell me,’ she said slowly, her expression far away. ‘Have you ever heard the name Nathaniel Essex being mentioned inside these walls? Doctor Essex, perhaps?’

Logan was watching her narrowly.

‘No,’ he said at last, his mild tone a direct contrast to the sharp intensity of his gaze. ‘Can’t say that I have.’

A corner of Emma’s mouth twitched upwards in a humourless smirk.

‘There’s a reason for that,’ she said quietly. ‘What happened here three years ago – what _really_ happened – is not common knowledge, even amongst our own people. The only reason that I am telling you this,’ Emma’s eyes flicked up to meet Logan’s dead on, ‘is because Charlie is to some extent involved.’

Logan didn’t so much as twitch. He was already well on his way to thinking that his Active was involved in way too fucking much of Dollhouse business for his liking.

‘Yeah,’ he said gruffly. ‘I figured.’

Emma huffed out something that almost resembled a laugh.

‘Yes,’ she said, smiling wryly at Logan, ‘I’m sure you have.’ She abruptly sobered and once again a tired expression stole over her face. ‘You had better sit down, Mr. Howlett,’ she said, nodding at the chair facing her. ‘This might take a while.’

Logan eyed her for a moment before drawing out the chair and gracelessly seating himself upon it.

‘So,’ he said, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. ‘I’m listening. Go ahead.’

And Emma began to speak.

*****

Logan walked out of Emma Frost’s office an hour later, feeling more tired than he could remember having been in a long while.

What Emma had told him had not been pretty.

Not for the first time, Logan lamented Charles’s association with the Dollhouse. He had often wondered how Charles had come to be involved with the House and now Emma’s words had given him the barest insight into what might have been, even if the woman herself had not meant to. Logan might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but no one could call him dumb; he hadn’t survived this long by not picking up on the things that went unsaid. And Frost had said – or _not_ said, as the case were – a hell of a lot.

She had also, however, warned Logan to not reveal anything of what had been said in that room to anyone. She had even gone so far as to threaten him with the Attic in order to impress upon him the seriousness of her warning.

Logan had simply stared at her.

‘Who would I tell?’ he’d asked her, somewhat bitterly.

Frost had not replied.

The words had got Logan thinking, though. What had happened in the Dollhouse – what _was_ happening in the Dollhouse – was wrong. There was no two ways about it. Logan had always had, concealed deep beneath his gruff and often wild exterior, a strong sense of self and he had always known right from wrong. That knowledge didn’t often change things – a man had to survive, after all – but he _knew_. And he’d known, from the moment that he had been inducted into the Dollhouse’s fold, that what was happening there was wrong as hell.

He’d underestimated just _how_ wrong, however.

Logan sighed and kept walking. He had left Frost’s office in something of a daze, without any real destination in mind. He had merely followed his feet and kept walking away from the office, away from anyone who might want to speak to him.

Unsurprisingly, he ended up at in the main centre of the Dollhouse, by the open space that served as the recreation area for the Actives. When his mind finally cleared, he found that he was standing next to Charles, who was once more busy at his paintwork as he almost always was during his recreation hours. Painting seemed to be a favourite pastime of his, Logan had noticed.

Logan watched Charles closely, his eyes following the Active’s movements as he leisurely swirled his paintbrush around. Then, in an abrupt movement, Logan pulled a chair away from a nearby table and, placing it close to Charles, sat down heavily on it.

Charles paused in his painting to turn around and smile at Logan in welcome before going back to happily splashing daubs of paint on a canvas with a thick-ended paintbrush.

Logan watched him for a while, seeming perfectly content to do nothing but sit there, his eyes never leaving the happy, contented expression on Charles’s face. On the inside, however, Logan felt anything but content, Frost’s words revolving endlessly around in his head. He had thought that he had made his peace with his work but what he had heard just now had shaken him; he was no longer sure of where he stood with anything, and he _hated_ that.

Logan scowled and glanced down at his feet. He wasn’t a man who put much store in thinking things out, preferring to strike first and think later, but strategy had always been something that he had known the value of and there was no doubt in his mind that strategy was what was necessary now.

Loyalty, after all, was not something that was given _or_ revoked lightly.

Frowning, Logan lifted his gaze, which automatically fell on his happily oblivious Active. Logan watched him for a moment, and his gut twisted as he realised that, despite everything, it would be impossible for him to leave. Whatever the wrongs perpetrated by the Dollhouse, however much they sickened him to the core, he could never leave. Not yet. Not until Charles’s contract ran out. Not until he was sure that Charles was restored to his own true self and was safe from everyone – the Dollhouse, Frost, Shaw … Everyone. 

He thought back to what Frost had told him in her office not even an hour before and he felt his stomach clench. Running his eyes over Charles once more, Logan sighed and slumped down in his seat.

‘Goddammit, Chuck,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘What the hell have you got yourself into?’

Charles smiled in response and then, as Logan watched, drew a long, thick line of furious crimson across his canvas, mercilessly wiping out everything that had been painted underneath.

‘Gone,’ he said, and smiled.


	26. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A piece of the puzzle falls into place, changing everything.

‘Pizza’s here!’ Raven announced, striding cheerfully into the room and setting two large cardboard boxes down on the table. ‘You get everything set up?’

Erik glanced up from where he had been fiddling with the TV remote and nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said, his mouth pulled upwards in a wry twist, ‘Although I still don’t know why we can’t watch anything that _I_ want.’

Raven’s eyes glinted at that and she smirked.

‘Because we’re in _my_ apartment,’ she said with a superior smile, ‘And because _you_ agreed to it.’

Erik snorted. Raven was something of an expert when it came to getting him to agree to things that he didn’t actually want to do. Really, it was almost embarrassing how quickly he had capitulated to her; all she had to do was widen her eyes and mention something about how Charles had been _so very fond_ of period dramas, and Erik had all but rolled over onto his back in ready compliance.

That was what Raven’s smug look of triumph seemed to indicate, at any rate.

Erik hadn’t been so very amenable at the beginning, though. Any and all attempts by Raven to spend more social time together had been rebuffed, sometimes politely but more often brusquely. Raven was not one to take no for an answer, however, and she’d made no secret about the fact that she strongly disapproved of Erik work-fuelled isolation. She had therefore – forcibly – instituted a rule that, at least once a week, Erik would set down whatever he was doing and go over to Raven’s apartment where they wouldn’t speak so much as a word about the Dollhouse for the entire evening. Erik had put up rather a lot of fuss at the start but his incessant snarling and grumbling had gradually decreased over time, until eventually he himself started arriving outside of Raven’s door once a week like clockwork, eliminating the need for Raven to march over and drag him out herself.

The first time Erik had turned up at her door, he hadn’t been able to wipe the smirk off of Raven’s face for _days_.

He smiled now at the thought and glanced over at his neighbour. Raven didn’t appear to notice his scrutiny, her eyes fixed firmly on the television screen as she slowly brought a slice of pizza up to her mouth. She was curled up on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, looking for all the world like a happy and contented child, safe in the knowledge that she was amongst those who cared about her; that she was amongst family.

The thought was enough to make something clench inside Erik’s chest, and for a moment he was almost overwhelmed by the surge of fear and longing that welled up inside him. He swallowed, his mouth dry. Then he turned to look again at Raven cuddling close into the sofa, her eyes wide and her mouth open as she watched the television screen, and the knot in his chest immediately relaxed and he found himself smiling slightly, abruptly calm once more. 

He could get used to this, Erik thought dazedly. Having Raven there beside him. Having a friend around to just – _be_ with. He actually wanted this, he realised. Now that he knew what it felt like – he wanted it.

Even as he was contemplating this strange feeling of warmth inside him, the phone at his hip buzzed, startling him out of his reverie. Raven glanced up at the sound, her concentration broken, and Erik sent her a grimace of apology before standing up, retrieving his phone from his pocket, and walking towards the kitchen where he answered it.

‘Lehnsherr,’ he said calmly, trying to hide his annoyance at being so unexpectedly disturbed.

The next moment, however, he jerked straight upright, his irritation from seconds before completely forgotten.

‘What?’ he demanded, tightening his grip on the phone, ‘You are sure of this?’

There was silence from the other room, the chatter from the television suddenly halted.

‘Yes,’ Erik said after a moment. ‘Yes, do that. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Call everybody in, tell them it’s urgent.’

With that, Erik hung up. He held on to his phone for a moment, just staring at it. His mind felt blank but his heart was going a mile a minute, as if it had grasped what his brain had not. It took him almost a minute to calm himself, to get his breathing back to normal. Then, slowly, he lowered his phone down and, his motions calm and deliberate, he slid it back into his trouser pocket. When he looked up again, Raven was standing by the door, watching him.

‘So,’ she said. Her expression was closed-off and her arms were folded tight over her chest. Her eyes, however, were glinting with suppressed eagerness.

‘So,’ Erik repeated, meeting her eyes.

There was a pause.

‘Well, _get on with it_!’ Raven all but snapped, unable to restrain herself, and Erik could now see that her hands were shaking slightly. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

Erik didn’t answer immediately. He considered Raven for a moment before finally nodding and taking a deep breath. 

‘The station called,’ he said quietly, his eyes never leaving Raven’s. ‘It’s about the last name on the list. The one that our mysterious friend sent us.’ He paused at Raven’s sudden intake of breath before continuing. ‘The last person on there – we’ve found him. We’ve finally found Nathaniel Essex.’

*****

Erik gritted his teeth and glared down at the floor of the vehicle, trying to ignore the four men seated around him.

He had made it to the police station with minutes to spare, his mind already focused on the job at hand. He would have arrived even earlier, but he had been delayed by Raven’s relentless questioning as she had tried to squeeze every last bit of information out of him. Her interrogation hadn’t been very effective – Erik couldn’t tell her what he himself didn’t know, after all – and this was something that he had repeated several times before Raven had eventually stormed off in a huff. The last that Erik had seen of her before he’d left the apartment was her setting herself down angrily in front of her laptop with an irritated scowl on her face. He had quickly left before he could be irrationally tempted to apologise for something that he had no damn reason to apologise for. 

Upon reaching the station, Erik had immediately been filled in on the Essex matter. The police analysts had finally managed to trace the last person on the list of names that Erik had received and it seemed that Nathaniel Essex was now, it appeared, the very respectable Nathan Kent, a well-regarded doctor at a local clinic. This last part had caused Erik to frown when he’d heard it; he had, after all, been working under the assumption that Essex had changed his name in order to escape from the Dollhouse. If that was true, then he couldn’t imagine any reason for why the doctor would have chosen to reside in the same city as the Dollhouse. This inconsistency nagged at him but he didn’t have long to consider it; his attention was immediately pulled away to different matters, and he soon forgot this one niggling thought.

It was over two hours later before the decision was made: Essex – or Young or whatever he had decided to call himself – needed to be brought in immediately, first for interrogation and then to be taken into protective custody. Whoever had murdered the other people on the list was still out there, after all, and Essex was too important to lose. He was their only link to the Dollhouse and Erik, for one, would be damned before he lost him too. Frankly, as far as he was concerned, even coming to this decision had taken far too long; if Erik had had his way, they’d have been kicking down Essex’s door the moment that they’d found out where he was. 

It couldn’t be helped, however, and after a quick assembling of a retrieval team, they had finally moved out, on their way to collect Essex with as little fuss as possible. So now Erik was here, sat in a tactical assault vehicle wedged in between four other members of the police task force assigned with bringing Essex in. Erik, as the lead detective on the case, was heading the force, something that simultaneously pleased and worried him. It was good to be in control, to be at the head of something that was so very important to him – and wouldn’t his superiors frown if they ever found out how emotionally compromised Erik was by this case – but if things went south then Erik knew who would get the blame. And what with the way things had been going so far, Erik wouldn’t be at all surprised if this one lead of theirs slipped out of his hands just like all the others.

He was going to try his damnedest to make sure that it didn’t, though.

Feeling the van slowing down, he quickly glanced down at his watch and grimaced. It had been hours since he had left Raven’s apartment and, despite the importance of his errand, he still felt vaguely guilty for abandoning Raven, especially without having given her any real tangible information about what he was doing or what was going to happen. If Erik had had his way, Essex would already be in their custody and he would have been home by now, giving Raven an update on their progress on the case. Instead, due to goddamned bureaucracy and police procedure, here they were hours later, on edge and still without Essex. Logically, Erik knew that the delay mattered little – the likelihood of the killer having the same window of opportunity as the police was next to none. If the killer had got to Essex then he would be dead; if he hadn’t, he would be alive. It didn’t stop Erik from wanting to act as quickly as possible, though.

The van came to a stop, jerking Erik out of his reverie. Looking up at the men around him, he gave them a quick nod.

‘This is a straightforward pick-up,’ he said shortly, ‘We do not expect Essex to be armed, but be on your guard nevertheless. Non-lethal rounds only, and even then only if absolutely necessary – we need Essex alive and willing to talk.’ He paused a moment to allow his words to sink in before giving the signal, and as one, he and his team moved out of the van.

There was silence as they entered the building, the door opening easily with the keys given to them by the building’s landlord. Essex’s apartment was on the top floor, they had been told, and he owned the entire floor, which actually made things easier for them. This way there were no nosey neighbours to watch out for and worry about.

Erik felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as they climbed the last flight of stairs. It had been some time since he had last led a tactical assault team like this, but Erik had lost none of his nerve in the time between. He glanced back at the four men behind him and mentally ran through his plan once more. He’d left one man at the bottom of the stairs and now he set another one at the top, just in case anyone from any of the lower floors decided to make their way up. Nodding at the two other men behind him, Erik silently led them towards Essex’s door, every nerve pulled taut as he did so. As he crept closer, however, something – the angle of the light, perhaps – made him hesitate, his heart suddenly thumping violently. He immediately held his fist up, causing the men behind him to pause. Slowly, cautiously, Erik began to make his way forward. As he approached the end of the dim corridor, he saw what it was that had caused his mental alarm bells to start ringing: the door to Essex’s apartment was ajar.

Erik swallowed. In all his time on the force, he had never once known a door left ajar to be a good thing. Chances were that what he was about to find inside the apartment would not be pretty.

Holding a palm up to his men, Erik slowly made his way forward until he was almost touching the door. He knew that he should have at least one man with him for the entry, but for some reason he felt that he needed to do this alone. He couldn’t help having the illogical, ridiculous feeling that whatever was waiting for him behind the door was for his eyes and for his eyes only.

Taking a deep breath, Erik grasped hold of his gun and, pushing the door open, walked inside.

And froze.

What Erik had been prepared for upon stepping into the room had been a body. A dead body with a lot of blood.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was for the murderer of said dead body to still be inside.

And what he definitely wasn’t prepared for, when the murderer turned around, bloody knife gripped between their fingers and teeth bared in violent, vicious hate, was for him to recognise the murderer, and recognise them immediately.

His gun slackened in his hand and he felt his body begin to shake. He watched, unmoving, as the murderer’s hate-filled gaze suddenly flickered, and recognition started to flood those wide, wild eyes.

The hand holding the blood-stained knife dropped down limply.

And, as horror started to enter those well-known, well-loved features, Erik opened his mouth and whispered one word.

‘… Raven?’


	27. Essex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma Frost struggles with the repurcussions of a major incident within the House.
> 
>  
> 
> Takes place some time after 'Awakening'.

_Three years and one month ago,_

‘This is a disaster!’ Emma’s voice was taut as she barged into her office, her face a mask of fury. ‘A complete and utter disaster! To think that one of our own – our senior _Programmer_ , no less – was doing something like _this_ under our very noses! It’s unthinkable!’

‘To be fair,’ said Kevin, who had calmly followed Frost into her office after having listened to her infuriated ranting for the better part of an hour, ‘I don’t think anyone here ever actually _liked_ Essex. I know I didn’t, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t _your_ favourite person around here either, Ma’am.’

Emma’s eyes narrowed and two spots of red appeared on her pale cheeks.

‘That’s not the _point_!’ she hissed. ‘Do you honestly think that the Board – that _Shaw_ – will care about how I felt about the man? That my _personal feelings_ will count for _anything_ with them? Directors have been sacked for _far_ less than this, god knows they have, but at least they _knew_ what was happening in their own facility! I didn’t even have that! Essex was meddling with _my_ Actives in _my_ House and _I should have known_!’ Her hands were balled into fists and her face was filled with a blistering cold fury that was terrible to behold.

Kevin, ever the diplomat, discreetly looked away.

After a moment, Emma’s breathing returned to normal and when Kevin next looked, she was once again her normal cool and unflappable self, albeit with a slightly weary look about her. She straightened up and cast a rueful glance down at her loosening fists before letting out a sigh.

‘I never thought I would be saying this,’ she said tiredly, ‘but thank goodness for MacTaggart and her ridiculous little crush on her Active. God knows when we might have stumbled across this disaster otherwise, and it took us long enough to start with.’

Kevin, unfortunately, didn’t seem to grasp the main implication of this statement. He went completely still before whirling on Emma, his eyes wide and bright, and his entire expression filled with far more glee than the situation warranted.

‘MacTaggart has a crush on Charlie?’ he demanded, looking as if his birthday had come early.

Emma frowned, stern disapproval immediately radiating from every pore of her flawless skin.

‘Keep up, Mr Sydney!’ she said sharply, glaring at him. ‘MacTaggart is _not_ the current problem. Or do I need to remind you of the multiple swords hanging over our heads at the moment?’ Emma cast an unimpressed eye over him and crossed her arms. ‘Never mind the fact that you should have been aware of MacTaggart’s misplaced affections a long time ago – or else what on earth did I promote you for?’

Kevin rolled his eyes, not seeming the least bit abashed.

‘It’s just a _temporary_ promotion,’ he drawled, shrugging his shoulders. ‘You said so yourself. It’s not like either one of us actually _wants_ me here. I’m just your last resort – like the fat kid that’s picked for five-a-side just to make up the numbers. I’m the guy that’s only brought in when everyone else is out.’

Emma scowled.

‘Nevertheless,’ she said shortly, ‘As the most senior member of my remaining staff, I expect you to take over as Head of Security where Mr. White left off.’ She paused, frowning at Kevin’s unenthusiastic expression. ‘And do not worry, Mr. Sydney – this _is_ only temporary. We will have your replacement here soon enough. Our Canadian counterparts are very kindly sending us over one of their best men to help with the clean up after this … _fiasco_. You will expect him shortly – Creed, I believe his name is. Victor Creed.’

Kevin’s shoulders immediately slumped with relief.

‘The sooner he comes, the better,’ he muttered, clenching his long, thin fingers with unconscious anxiety. ‘Then I can go back to sitting around and watching a bunch of pretty, brain-dead little darlings puttering about the House while pretending that I’m working.’ He shook his head. ‘If only old Whitey hadn’t gone and got himself slaughtered like that,’ he sighed mournfully.

‘Not forgetting the twelve of my very best men that he took along with him,’ Emma added bitingly, a bitter expression crossing her face. Her cold white hands curled into fists as a surge of anger overtook her, causing her eyes to flash. ‘ _Damn_ Essex!’ she cursed. ‘Damn him! This is all his doing! What on earth was he _thinking_ , tampering with our Actives like that? Did he honestly think that we wouldn’t notice?’

‘Well,’ Kevin said lightly, glancing down at his fingernails, ‘Considering that he’d been doing this for years before we actually caught him …’ His voice trailed off.

Emma’s mouth twisted.

‘Yes, I _know_ , Mr. Sydney,’ she snapped, glaring at him. She sighed then and ran a hand across her face; the droop of her eyelids were the only visible indicator of her weariness. ‘Those poor people,’ she murmured, her voice strangely soft, ‘God knows what he’d been doing to them.’ She glanced up at Kevin. ‘He wouldn’t tell us, you know,’ she said almost conversationally, ‘Even after Mr. White asked him nicely. Refused to tell us anything, right to the end. It was silly of him to resist, of course,’ she added with a small shrug. ‘We will have the answers soon enough.’

‘What happened to him?’ Kevin asked curiously. He had his suspicions, of course, but he didn’t know anything for sure. He hadn’t been Head of House Security then, something that he was sincerely grateful for, particularly in retrospect.

Emma gave him a cool look.

‘What do you think happened?’ she asked idly. ‘We put him in the Attic.’

Kevin’s eyes widened at that and Emma scoffed.

‘What else did you think would happen?’ she demanded. ‘After everything he’s done? He couldn’t be allowed to go free, not after that. So we wiped him, sent him to the Attic, and downloaded a new, clean identity into his body. That way we’ll be covered if anyone comes looking for him.’

Kevin swallowed. 

‘So … he’s dead?’ he asked, fidgeting slightly.

‘He’s in the _Attic_ ,’ Emma corrected, watching him narrowly. ‘But yes, I suppose that Nathaniel Essex is, to all intents and purposes, dead.’

‘Sheesh,’ Kevin muttered, looking down at his shoes. ‘Remind me not to get on your bad side.’

Emma gave him a thin smile.

‘Sometimes, Mr. Sydney,’ she murmured, ‘Your wisdom surprises even me.’

Kevin smiled dryly but said nothing.

Emma let out a sigh.

‘Truth is,’ she said, almost to herself, ‘I committed a grave error. I put too much trust in Essex and I let things slip out of my hands.’ She clenched her fists. ‘This must not happen again. Ever.’

‘I wouldn’t be too hard on myself,’ Kevin said, shrugging and trying his best to be sympathetic. ‘You weren’t to know, after all.’

‘But I was,’ Emma said, straightening up. ‘I did.’

Kevin stared at her.

‘Well, I didn’t _know_ ,’ Emma rolled her eyes at the appalled expression on Kevin’s face. ‘Obviously, I didn’t. But-’ she hesitated. ‘Mr. McCoy came to see me once,’ she said abruptly, causing Kevin to blink.

‘McCoy – the Doc’s _assistant_? Did he have anything to do with-’ he started but Emma waved him off.

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘It’s highly doubtful. Of course we have suspended all Programming activity for the interim and McCoy is being held while we debrief him – but no. I do not think he was part of Essex’s twisted little venture. As I was saying – he came to see me once.’ Emma grimaced. ‘He wanted to tell me about some inconsistencies in Essex’s activities.’

‘What did he say?’ Kevin asked curiously.

Emma sighed and rubbed her hand across her face.

‘That Essex requisitioned Actives for “training exercises” even when none were scheduled,’ she said tiredly. ‘That he more often than not sent McCoy away when this happened. Discrepancies in the reports, missing logs – that sort of thing.’

Kevin’s eyebrows had slowly risen whilst Emma had spoken, causing Emma to scowl.

‘Yes, I know that it all looks terribly suspicious _now_ ,’ she snapped. ‘But what was I supposed to think back then? I just told McCoy that I would take care of it and then found Essex and gave him an unofficial reprimand.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘He became a lot more careful after that, it seems,’ she said grimly. ‘If it weren’t for MacTaggart becoming suspicious about Charlie’s frequent disappearances, I don’t know what would have happened.’ She turned to glare at Kevin. ‘And before you open your mouth, please remember that _she_ , of all the Handlers, was the only one to have noticed that anything was amiss with Essex. And that includes _you_ , Mr. Sydney.’

Kevin’s mouth closed with a snap and he winced, looking rather sheepish.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I get you. We should probably do something about that – institute some sort of Handler-Active bonding time, or something.’

Emma cocked her head thoughtfully.

‘That’s not a bad idea, Mr. Sydney,’ she said, sounding vaguely surprised. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

‘I’m not _just_ a pretty face, you know,’ Kevin smirked, before letting out a high-pitched cackle that caused Emma to wrinkle her nose. He sobered after a moment, however, and turned to face her. ‘About MacTaggart …’

‘I already told you-’

‘No jokes, ma’am,’ Kevin said quickly. He waited for Emma to quieten down before continuing. ‘I know you’re grateful to her for bringing the matter to your attention and all, but if she _does_ have feelings for her Active …’ he trailed off.

Emma grimaced and then nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said, lowering her head. ‘Yes, I know. You are correct, Mr. Sydney. Protocol demands that I separate her from her Active immediately.’ She suddenly frowned. ‘Then again, protocol has not served me particularly well, of late … No,’ she said, abruptly decisive, ‘we will leave Miss MacTaggart alone for now. You will keep an eye on her, however, Mr. Sydney. Make sure that this … _crush_ of hers is only fleeting. If it looks to develop into something more problematic, however …’ she paused, ‘Then we will take action as is necessary. For now, though, we have bigger things to worry about.’

‘Such as Mystique,’ Kevin said with a grave dip of the head.

‘Such as Mystique,’ Emma agreed with an acknowledging nod.

‘I suppose love-sick Handlers don’t really make the list when you have a psycho, knife-wielding Active on the loose, huh?’ Kevin smiled humourlessly.

‘MacTaggart is not one of my top priorities, no,’ Emma said with a wry look. ‘But then we hardly have the resources necessary to bring in Mystique, either. Not at the moment, at any rate.’ She shook her head. ‘Essex must have been mad,’ she declared. ‘I can’t see any other explanation for it. Forcing Actives to retain memories of their Assignments? It’s madness! Cruel, sadistic madness! Who knows what sort of brain damage and trauma they might have suffered at his hands? And that’s just the start of it!’

Kevin’s eyes widened.

Emma gave him a look. ‘He wasn’t only interested in testing the limits of our Actives’ brains, you know,’ she said, her voice icy cold and full of revulsion. ‘No, Dr. Essex was interested in something much bigger than that.’ She paused then, and forced Kevin to meet her eyes. ‘What I am about to tell you, Mr. Sydney, is never to be repeated again outside this office, do you hear me?’

Kevin nodded.

Emma watched him do so before letting out a breath, her lips forming a grim line.

‘Immortality,’ she said quietly. ‘Dr. Essex was interested in immortality. In perpetuating his existence for as long as he was able to.’

Kevin frowned.

‘I don’t see-’

‘What do we do here, Mr. Sydney?’ Emma cut him off before he could finish. ‘What is it that the Dollhouse does?’

‘We build fantasies,’ Kevin said slowly, still frowning. ‘We create programs for our Actives into which we input all of our Client’s desired skills and qualities-’

‘And where do we get these skills and qualities from? Originally, I mean?’

‘Well,’ Kevin said, deep in thought, ‘We get them from of the copies of all the minds in our database and-’ He paused, a stricken look suddenly crossing his face. ‘… From all the minds in our database,’ he repeated thickly, his eyes wide.

Emma nodded, watching him.

‘Essex. Essex is in that database.’

Again, Emma nodded.

‘So technically he could-’ Kevin’s face went green. ‘Oh hell. Like _one_ of that guy wasn’t enough.’

‘Quite,’ Emma smiled thinly.

‘Shit,’ Kevin swore. It was a mark of how grave the situation was that Emma did not so much as frown at the expletive. ‘That’s bad. That’s very bad. And you’re saying Mystique-’

‘No,’ Emma quickly shook her head. ‘He mainly focused his immortality project on others – Phoenix and Cyclops were his favourites for that one, I believe, and he was just starting on Charlie. Naturally I’ve had them all temporarily transferred to ensure that their minds are completely wiped clean of all traces of Essex. Mystique, however …’ and here Emma’s shoulders actually slumped. ‘Mystique was released from our custody prematurely, before we had any idea about Essex’s activities. By the time we knew, not only had she been released, but she had also disappeared.’ Her lips formed a thin line. ‘So now not only does she remember what happened to her, but she also retains the skills to bring us down – as evidenced by our loss of Mr. White and his team.’ Emma closed her eyes for a moment. ‘God only knows what she intends to do next.’

‘Maybe she’ll just … leave us alone?’ Kevin asked hopefully, but Emma shook her head.

‘No,’ she said firmly, her eyes like steel. ‘I think not. You see, it’s not only vengeance that she’s after.’ She turned to look Kevin straight in the eye. ‘I’m afraid that we have something infinitely more precious to her in our grasp.’

Kevin leaned forward curiously.

‘Her brother,’ Emma said, smiling wryly. ‘We have Mystique’s brother. Our own dear Charlie, if you would believe it.’

Kevin stared.

‘Wow,’ he said after a moment. He blinked and shook his head. ‘Wow,’ he said again. He looked up at Emma. ‘You know that means that we’re pretty much screwed, right?’

Emma’s eyes glinted fiercely.

‘Don’t be too sure about that, Mr. Sydney,’ she said smoothly. ‘We may have been taken by surprise but that shall not happen again. We are even now upgrading our security, and the personnel will soon follow. I wouldn’t worry too much about Mystique, if I were you. After all,’ and this time Emma’s expression was full of cold satisfaction, ‘there are a _lot_ more where she came from.’

Kevin’s eyes quickly flicked up to Emma’s before dipping down just as fast. 

‘Great,’ he said, sounding anything but enthusiastic. ‘So now we’ll have more knife-wielding psycho Dolls running about the place. Just what we needed.’

Emma gave him a cool smile.

‘What you forget, Mr. Sydney,’ she said with a lift of her eyebrow, ‘Is that _these_ ones will be _ours_.’

For some reason this did not seem to reassure Kevin very much.

‘If you say so,’ he muttered with a loose shrug.

‘You’ll see,’ Emma said determinedly, a calculating glint entering her eyes once more. ‘This whole mess will be cleared up in no time. Essex has been dealt with and the Dolls are being checked and assessed even now. All that’s left is Mystique, and it won’t take long to apprehend _her_.’ 

Kevin didn’t say anything.

Emma gave a soft snort and tossed her head. ‘I very much doubt she’s rational now, anyway,’ she said with a careless shrug. ‘Essex’s tampering will catch up with her soon enough. If she won’t be knocking on our door for help then she will be locked in some sort of police cell, waiting for us to pick her up. She won’t last long.’ Emma’s mouth slowly pulled up into a smile, her eyes full of cool triumph. ‘In fact, I don’t think she’ll even last the month …’


	28. Mystique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is introduced to Mystique.

Erik stared, unable to think or move or do anything but look at the girl in front of him.

Raven had dropped her arm down to her side and was now blinking at him with an owlish expression on her face. 

‘Oh,’ she said vacantly. ‘You’re here. You’re not supposed to be here. Not yet.’

For a moment Erik couldn’t even breathe.

‘Raven,’ he choked out, the words sticking in his throat. ‘Raven, what-’

At that moment, however, there was a noise from the doorway and suddenly the two other members of Erik’s retrieval team loomed up behind him, their guns raised and pointed in Raven’s direction.

Erik saw Raven’s eyes widen and sudden panic erupted inside of him as he realised what was going to happen.

‘No!’ he shouted, raising his hands up in an attempt to push the guns aside, ‘Don’t hurt-’

He hadn’t even completed his sentence before there was a sickening crack and Erik’s eyes widened in fear as he spun around, hoping against hope that nothing had happened to Raven. 

But Raven was no longer there.

There was a sudden movement to his side and when he turned around he saw, to his utter disbelief, one of his men on the ground while the other was valiantly trying – and failing – to fend off a wild, vicious attack from Raven, who seemed to have transformed into some kind of feral creature in the few milliseconds that he had looked away.

Erik could do nothing but stare.

She was magnificent. Had he come across the scene in any other circumstance, Erik would have appreciated Raven’s fluid, graceful movements and the obvious superiority of her skill and technique. Now though … Erik felt his stomach twist inside of him as he tried to make sense of what was happening right in front of him.

He couldn’t understand it. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to understand it. Raven – his sweet, bossy, stubborn little Raven – had somehow turned into a vicious killer. A vicious, _competent_ killer.

… He didn’t know her at all.

Even as he thought this, Raven wrenched the gun from the man’s hand in one smooth move and, before Erik could so much as blink, she had brutally rammed the butt down on the man’s head, causing him to let out a terrible gurgling noise before crashing down to the floor, unmoving.

‘Don’t worry,’ Raven said calmly as Erik started forward, the sound of her voice causing him to arrest his movement. ‘He’s not dead.’ She looked at him and blinked wide, innocent eyes. ‘They’re both unconscious, that’s all. I knew you’d be mad if I really hurt them.’ She sounded almost proud of her restraint, as if she had been _generous_ in merely knocking the men unconscious. Erik, staring down at the bodies of his men in disbelief, found that he could hardly bring himself to look at her.

‘Raven,’ he was well aware that his voice sounded like gravel but at the moment he really couldn’t care less. ‘Raven – what the hell is this?’

Raven’s face fell and she ducked her head, looking shame-faced for the first time since Erik had walked through the door.

‘You weren’t supposed to see this,’ she mumbled, her head lowered and her eyes on the floor. Erik remembered her making this exact same pose when she had accidentally spilt a cup of coffee on one of his case files, and the stark contrast between the situations made him feel sick.

‘I wasn’t supposed to see this,’ he repeated dumbly, staring at her. ‘I – you _killed Essex_.’ He shook his head, as if unable to comprehend the very words that he was saying. ‘Raven - you’re a _murderer_.’

Raven’s lips immediately turned down in a pout and she gazed at him with a look of intense reproach. Erik quickly turned his face away. He couldn’t look at her. Not with that expression. Not with all that blood on her hands. 

Instead, he took a ragged breath and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with cold stiff fingers. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine take root inside his brain, making it very difficult for him to think straight.

‘How did you even find this place?’ he asked after a moment, trying to keep his voice calm and stopper up the rage and grief that was brewing far too close to the surface. ‘How did – Did you always know?’

Raven snorted at that.

‘Course not,’ she said with a huff of derision. ‘Do you honestly think that I would have let him live this long if I had?’ She shook her head scornfully. ‘No, I bugged your phone.’ She gave a careless shrug. ‘And I hacked into your computer. It’s why I moved in next to you, you know,’ she added, not seeming to notice how still and silent Erik was being. ‘I couldn’t find him on my own so I came to you. I figured that if I couldn’t find him then the police could. That’s why I sent you the list.’

Erik’s head jerked up. 

‘You,’ he said, trying to keep his voice low and calm. ‘You sent me that list.’

‘Naturally,’ Raven said, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘I’m good at what I do, of course, but the police have way more resources. It made sense,’ she said in a matter-of-fact voice, as if she weren’t talking about a conspiracy to _murder_ a man in cold blood. ‘So I just came to you to try and help you along with the investigation. Imagine my surprise when I found out that you were in love with my _brother_!’ She laughed then, and clapped her hands together like a joyful child.

Erik put his hands to his head, feeling slightly dizzy.

‘Charles,’ he bit out, his fists clenching as he tried to restrain himself. ‘Your brother. Was he really who you said he was? Or -’ he swallowed, ‘or was everything you said about him a lie too?’

Raven’s expression immediately fell at the mention of her brother’s name. Her eyes seemed to well up with unshed tears.

‘Charles,’ she said in a small, mournful voice. She looked more fragile and child-like than Erik had ever seen her and the incongruity made his head spin. ‘No – no. I never lied about him. Not about Charles. Not to you.’

Instead of reassuring him, however, this only made Erik angrier.

‘So why do this?’ he demanded harshly, his back ramrod straight and his fists clenched tight. ‘What’s the point? Do you think he’d want this for you? That he’d _approve_ of this? His own sister – a _murderer_!’

Raven flinched. 

‘I’m doing this _for_ him!’ she snarled, her whole body tensing up with anger. ‘I’m doing this to get him _out_ of there!’

‘Oh?’ Erik sneered, baring his teeth and gesturing furiously at the other side of the room. ‘Then why the _fuck_ did you just go and _kill_ the only man that could have helped us actually _find_ him?’

Raven blinked, her anger disappearing in an instant, and she looked around the room with a vague expression. 

‘Oh,’ she said, stepping forward and kicking Essex’s lifeless body. ‘Him. Yeah, he wouldn’t have been any help.’

Erik waited but she didn’t explain any further, causing him to lose what little patience he had.

‘He could have led us to the Dollhouse!’ he snarled, barely able to keep himself from reaching out and shaking her. ‘He could have led us to _Charles_! And you _killed_ him, Raven! You _murdered_ our best chance at finding your brother, you _stupid_ little girl!’

Raven watched him coolly, not looking the least bit upset at this outburst. ‘You would have had more luck asking the first random guy you met on the street,’ she said with an indifferent shrug. ‘This guy,’ she jabbed her thumb in the direction of Essex’s corpse, ‘knows squat.’ At Erik’s frown she continued. ‘They wiped him,’ she explained, and then made a whistling noise and whipped a finger away from her head. ‘Essex is gone. You thought that he just changed his name? He didn’t. They changed _him_. This guy here? He really _was_ Nathan Kent, family doctor. At least as far as he knew. Which is all that really matters, right?’

Erik didn’t say anything. The news that Essex – that _Kent_ – had known nothing somehow made his heart sink even lower in his chest. He knew it was irrational – whether Essex had known anything or not hardly mattered when he was _dead_ – but the fact that Essex no longer even _existed_ as a person meant that he had hung all of his hopes on nothing; that there were no more leads for him to find; that … Erik paused. Slowly, he turned to face Raven.

‘You knew this,’ he said quietly. ‘You _knew_ he would be of no use – that he was a _different man_ – and yet you still killed him.’ His cold anger wavered then and for a moment his expression was raw with a mixture of grief and disgust. ‘Christ, Raven,’ he swore, turning his face away. ‘What the hell is _wrong_ with you?’

In an instant Raven’s blasé indifference gave way to an almost frightening seething, frothing rage.

‘What’s _wrong_ with me?’ she hissed, her eyes sparking and her teeth bared in fury. She turned and, bending down, grasped hold of Essex’s hair and wrenched his body up, shoving it towards Erik. ‘Ask _him_! Ask this sonofabitch what is wrong with me! Ask him what he did to me – what he _made_ me! _Ask_ him!’

Erik stared at Raven, unable to speak. His eyes roved from her rage-filled eyes to her spit-flecked mouth, and then to the carcass that she was clutching with one hand. He felt his heart begin to sink. He had always suspected but now he was almost completely sure of it: there was something seriously wrong with Raven.

Swallowing, he tried a different approach.

‘Raven,’ he said slowly, making his voice as soothing and gentle as possible, ‘Raven, it’s okay. I understand.’

Raven stopped. She blinked and cocked her head, studying him.

Erik tried again. ‘Raven,’ he licked his lips. ‘Raven, I think – I think you should let me take you home. It’s – it’s been a long day and you need rest. We both do. And we need to talk.’

Raven was watching him closely.

‘Talk,’ she said slowly.

Erik nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said, reaching out for her with one arm. ‘Talk. About everything … about – Charles.’

Raven didn’t speak for a moment. Then:

‘You _always_ want to talk about Charles,’ she said, and Erik was surprised at the sudden spite in her voice. She folded her arms and glared at him, her eyes narrowing. ‘ _Everyone_ always wants to talk about Charles!’

Erik swallowed. He hadn’t a clue as to what was going on inside Raven’s head. All he knew was that he had to tread carefully.

‘Isn’t he why you’re doing this?’ he asked gently, softening his tone. ‘For him? For Charles?’

He did not expect the look of anger that blazed across Raven’s face at that.

‘Of course I’m doing this for him!’ she spat, her shoulders stiffening as she tensed up. ‘You think I have a _choice_? After what he _did_?’ Erik didn’t answer, which made Raven narrow her eyes. ‘And what about _you_?’ she challenged, folding her arms and glaring at him. ‘What’s your reason for searching for him?’ 

Still Erik remained silent. Seeing that he wasn’t going to say anything, Raven shook her head and let out a bitter laugh.

‘And that’s what I mean,’ she said, smiling viciously. ‘You don’t even know. You just know that he’s _Charles_ and he’s _special_ and all that other shit that I’ve been listening to _my whole life_.’

There was a pause. And all of sudden Erik realised that Raven was jealous.

‘You resent him,’ he said in a tone of wonder, staring at her. ‘You resent your brother for all this.’

‘You’re damn right I resent him!’ Raven snarled, slamming her foot down on the ground and clenching her fists. ‘ _He’s_ the reason why this happened to me! It’s because of _him_ that they took me! It’s because of him that I am what I am!’

There was silence. Then:

‘What do you mean?’ Erik demanded, his voice cold. His jaw was set and there was a flinty look in his eyes as he stared at the girl standing across from him.

Raven let out a hysterical laugh. 

‘It’s _him_!’ she all but shrieked. ‘Everything is _always_ about him! What makes this any different?’ She looked almost upset that Erik didn’t seem to understand.

‘Raven,’ Erik’s tone was stern but there was a pleading note in his voice now, torn as he was between grief and anger. ‘Raven, this is _nonsense_. Charles is a _victim_ here – just like you are!’

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Raven immediately bristled, stiffening and baring her teeth at him.

‘I am _not_ a victim!’ she hissed angrily, her eyes flashing with fury. ‘I am not some helpless _child_ to be pitied! Charles always, _always_ -’ she choked then, and her rage suddenly disappeared, leaving her trembling and pale. ‘Charles,’ she whispered, her shoulders sagging and her hands falling limply to her sides. ‘Oh Charles,’ she crooned and, to Erik’s latent horror, she began to rock back and forth, her arms coming up to frame her chest.

Erik swallowed and turned away, unable to look at the pathetic creature before him. Instead, he cast an uneasy eye around the room, his eyes lingering on the bodies on the floor. 

‘I-’ he began and Raven’s eyes immediately shot up to meet his. Faced with her intense stare, he found himself unable to speak.

Slowly, Raven dropped her arms to her side and straightened up.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said casually, as if she hadn’t just been curled in on herself and whimpering like a child. ‘But you’re wrong.’ She met Erik’s eyes and held his gaze, her expression serious. ‘I’m not mad, you know. Well – _one_ of me _is_ a little screwed in the head, but she’s not exactly hanging-from-the-chandeliers frothing-at-the-mouth mad, if you know what I mean.’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of “homicidal maniac”,’ Erik said before he could stop himself. Then he frowned. ‘What do you mean, “ _one_ ” of you?’

Raven shrugged.

‘Well, there’s more than one of me, isn’t there?’ at Erik’s befuddled look, she brought her hand up and tapped a finger on the side of her head. ‘In here, I mean. Didn’t I tell you? _Dear_ Dr. Essex here,’ she kicked the body on the floor again, ‘we used to be quite close, he and I. He used to experiment on me, you see’ She watched with a detached expression as the blood left Erik’s face. ‘Yes, it wasn’t very pleasant, as I’m sure you can imagine. He was trying to get me to retain the skills and abilities that were inputted into my brain so that I’d be some sort of … I don’t know – advanced human being, or something. Unfortunately,’ she gave a dramatic sigh. ‘It all backfired. Instead of just retaining the skills, I retained the personalities.’ She looked up at Erik’s horrified face and gave a wry smile. ‘As you can imagine, it’s really rather crowded up in here, most days.’

Erik was shaking his head weakly, filled both with impotent rage and desperate pity.

‘Raven,’ he said wretchedly. ‘Raven, I didn’t _know_. I …’ words failed him and he quickly shut his mouth. He knew better than most that sometimes words just weren’t enough.

Raven, however, merely laughed.

‘Never mind that,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘The point is you were right. There are more than a few of me who are … _homicidally_ active, I’ll admit. But then I also have a virginal nun and a 12-year-old school girl in here as well. Make of that what you will.’

Erik deliberately refrained from wondering about the type of sick bastard who would request such personality imprints and instead sealed his lips tightly together, watching Raven worriedly.

‘So,’ he said slowly, ‘you’re saying that you have all those … _people_ inside of you?’ Try as he might, he could not stop himself sounding a good deal more hesitant and tentative than he had intended. ‘That all those – _personalities_ that the Dollhouse loaded you with – they’re _inside your head_?’

Raven smirked.

‘You got it, doll-face,’ she drawled, looking almost proud of herself. ‘All thirty-six of us.’ Her expression shuttered for a moment. ‘Essex got his hands on me early,’ she murmured, her eyes lowering slightly. ‘I wasn’t at the Dollhouse for very long, but – believe me – it was long enough.’ She raised her arms and dropped them back to her sides as if to say “what can you do”.

Erik was finding this extremely hard to process. 

‘So there are thirty-six people in your head.’ He stared at her, his eyes wide. ‘Christ, Raven, how do you even – how do you _function_? How are you able to even stand up?’

Raven smirked but there was little humour to it.

‘Getting everyone to agree to even the smallest thing can be a bitch,’ she admitted. ‘But luckily I’m stronger. The dominant personality, so to speak.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s mostly me,’ she continued in a small voice. ‘There’s just … a whole lot of other me’s in there, too.’

‘Christ,’ Erik shook his head. ‘I can’t even – Why didn’t you go back? Surely they would have fixed it? They can’t have intended for you to remain this way?’

‘They didn’t intend it at all,’ Raven gave a harsh laugh. ‘It was purely _this_ sonofabitch here-’ and here she kicked at Essex’s corpse with her foot ‘-who did this to me, all by his lonesome. And yeah, I guess they would fix it,’ she then met Erik’s eyes and beneath the casual veneer he could see the unfettered rage and fury that boiled and churned within, ‘but before I do that I am going to _rip_ that fucking place apart with my bare hands and kill every single one of the motherfuckers that _ever_ dared to put their hands on me.’

There was very little that Erik could say in response to that, especially when he knew damn well that he would have resolved to do much the same if he were in Raven’s shoes. Nevertheless, he tried.

‘Raven,’ he said gently, ‘this isn’t right. You’re not _well_. You have _thirty-six people_ in your head, for god’s sake. This can’t continue, Raven – you need _help_.’

Raven merely scoffed.

‘Keep your hair on,’ he said, looking slightly amused. ‘I’ve been this way for years now – I can handle a few more months.’

Erik had just opened his mouth to say something sarcastic about just how _well_ that had been going for her when there came a sudden buzz from the comms link at his waist, causing him to freeze.

‘Captain, this is Delta three-one-zero, requesting status, over.’

Erik’s mouth went dry. He had completely forgotten about the men he had left in the building stairwell. He had spent more time than he’d realised, talking to Raven, and the men he’d left behind were probably anxious. He was rather surprised that they hadn’t interrupted sooner.

He licked his lips and, slowly, he glanced at Raven who was watching him with wide, apprehensive eyes.

Erik swallowed. Then his hand darted towards his belt.

Before his fingers could so much as brush against the radio, there was a soft rustle and suddenly Erik felt a blinding pain in his forehead and then he was on the floor, blinking dazedly and staring up at Raven, who stood over him with a cool expression.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘I don’t like hurting you, but it’s better this way. Trust me.’

And before Erik could even open his mouth to tell her to go fuck herself, Raven’s foot collided with the side of his head and then he knew no more.


	29. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan receives an unexpected summons from Emma Frost.

Logan strode cheerfully away from the Rec Room, having just spent a very pleasant afternoon taking Kevin for every penny in his pocket in a very one-sided game of pool. Kevin was an enthusiastic if not highly-skilled player and he had quickly paid up with no more than a rueful smile at his loss, which was more than Logan could say for most of the other idiots in the room. It was one of the reasons that Logan (rather reluctantly, it must be admitted) liked the other man: Kevin was straightforward when it mattered. Sure, he enjoyed his tricks and deceptions as much as anyone else (probably more, Logan thought with chagrin, remembering the unfortunate incident of the pseudo-beer) but only when he could afford to do so. Logan prided himself on being a somewhat good judge of character and he could tell that Sydney was a man to be relied on in a pinch … as long as you were counted among his friends, that is. Logan wasn’t aware of Kevin having any enemies but, considering Sydney’s personality, in some ways this was just as telling. Kevin was a friendly and easy-going kind of guy, sure, but he was also devious as fuck, and Logan wouldn’t envy the person who got on his wrong side. 

Hell, Logan thought wryly, sometimes even being on his good side was hard enough. 

Deep in thought as he was, it took him a moment to realise that he was not alone. A movement in the corner of his eye suddenly made him jerk his head up and there, mere feet away from him, stood the Head of Dollhouse Security, Victor Creed, watching him with a thoughtful expression on his face. The sight of him caused Logan to tense up almost imperceptibly before his shoulders loosened and he straightened up with a scowl. Creed was surprisingly stealthy for a man of such considerable bulk, he thought sourly.

‘Howlett,’ Creed greeted him with a friendly nod, stepping nearer as he did so. ‘Is everything well?’

Logan eyed Creed warily before answering. ‘Yeah,’ he said gruffly, giving him a slow nod in return. He paused then, waiting for Creed to pick up the conversation or else go on his way. When he was met with nothing but silence, however, Logan shrugged and turned to leave himself, only to be arrested by the sound of Creed’s voice.

‘Miss Frost would like to see you,’ he said conversationally, as if he were remarking on the weather. ‘In her office. Sooner, rather than later, she said.’

Logan’s shoulders immediately slumped and he grimaced, wondering what had got Frost’s frilly white panties (and how he’d hated Kevin for that one-sided, vomit-inducing conversation in which the other Handler had gleefully speculated about the nature of Her Worship’s undergarments) in a twist this time. He could swear that not a single one of the other Handlers had ever been hauled over to Frost’s office even a fraction of the number of times that he had. 

He couldn’t say that he much appreciated the special attention, either.

‘She say what she wants?’ he growled instead, firmly putting his irritation to one side in order to scrutinise Creed’s face.

Creed shrugged.

‘Nope,’ he said, with what sounded like a complete lack of curiosity. ‘Just that you should get over to her office. Immediately. She didn’t tell and I didn’t ask.’

Logan could believe it. Frost had a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy about pretty much everything and Creed had never struck him as having the most inquiring of minds.

He glanced down at his watch and scowled. He usually went to visit Charles at this time and although he didn’t flatter himself that his Active would actually notice much if he was late, he still didn’t like the disruption to his schedule and every stubborn bone in his body was clamouring for him to ignore the summons and continue on his way. Rationally, however, he knew that he would obey. The summons was from _Frost_ , after all, and chances were that what she had to say to him was important. It wasn’t as if she was the type who enjoyed making light conversation or engaging with others when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. In fact, she was even worse than Logan when it came to that.

Logan closed his eyes and sighed, resigned. It looked like his visit to Charles would have to wait just a little bit longer. 

He glanced up at Creed.

‘Well then,’ he said, deliberately dragging his words out in a lazy drawl. ‘I guess I shouldn’t keep the lady waiting.’

Creed just stared at him, his face completely blank.

Logan let out a snort.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he muttered, beginning to turn away. ‘No need to talk my ear off, bub, I’m going.’

Creed continued to stare at him for a moment. Then, slowly, his face split into a wide grin, showing off every single one of his gleaming white teeth to their full effect.

‘You’d best run along,’ he said, still smiling unnervingly. Logan cast him a strange look before slowly moving away, trying not to show how very much he disliked having his back to Creed. The man was an unknown quantity and, pleasant as he had always been to Logan (at least _relatively_ ) Logan had never been able to rid himself of the itch he got under his skin whenever the man was around.

He took his time getting to Frost’s office; he didn’t dawdle as such, but neither did he rush there. Logan was a good soldier, yes, but he was no pet dog to come running whenever someone clicked their fingers at him, even if those fingers did belong to the well-manicured hand of House Director Emma ‘cross me and I eviscerate you’ Frost.

Coming to a stop outside her office, Logan raised his arm and rapped sharply on the door. He then waited for a brief moment before pushing it open and stepping in.

‘Frost,’ he greeted her, deliberately leaving out the honorific.

Emma looked up and smiled. Astoundingly, it seemed that, this once, she wasn’t going to call him out on his improper form of address.

‘Mr. Howlett,’ she greeted him pleasantly, watching him approach from her ever-present throne behind her desk. ‘I had hoped that I would see you soon. I trust Mr. Creed delivered the message to you in good time?’

Logan shrugged.

‘Don’t ask me,’ he muttered, shuffling his feet restlessly. ‘You’re the one that sent the message. You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.’ He met Emma’s eyes, allowing his impatience to shine through for a moment. ‘Can we quit with the small talk and get on with it already? Only I got places to be.’

Emma regarded him coolly but there was a gleam in her eye.

‘My, my,’ she murmured. ‘Someone’s tetchy.’ She slowly straightened up and reached out for an appointment book on her desk. ‘But perhaps we can remedy that, yes?’

Logan’s eyes narrowed.

‘We can?’ he asked sceptically, his eyes fixed on Emma with not a little suspicion.

Emma smiled.

‘Yes, we can,’ she answered, flicking through a few pages until she came to stop with a small hum of satisfaction. ‘Here we are,’ she announced, pleased. She then turned to face Logan, her hands clasped on the desk in front of her. ‘I am pleased to inform you, Mr. Howlett, that at the end of the month you will receive five days’ paid leave in addition to your previously allocated vacation time. This time is yours to do with as you wish. You will receive the full details in writing, of course, but I wanted to inform you of this personally in advance so that you could make arrangements should you wish to leave the country for a while,’ Emma’s gaze drifted slightly to somewhere over Logan’s shoulder. ‘I hear that Aruba is particularly nice, this time of the year. If you like that sort of thing, that is.’

Logan stared at her.

‘Hold up,’ he interrupted, causing Emma to pause obediently, cocking her head to one side in an attitude of rapt attention.

‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked, her voice bland.

Logan gave her a look.

‘I just got one question for you,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Why?’

Emma’s face expressed a look of detached bemusement.

‘Come again?’ she asked politely. 

‘I said, _why_?’ Logan repeated with a growl, stalking forward so that he stood directly in front of Emma’s desk. ‘What’s going on? Why are you so keen to get rid of me all of a sudden?’

Emma blinked.

‘Get rid of you?’ she repeated slowly, before letting out a short little laugh. ‘Mr. Howlett, you are positively paranoid. No,’ she shook her head briskly and Logan found that he much preferred her brusque professionalism to the blank detachment of moments before. ‘Let me assure you, Mr. Howlett, that there is nothing out of the ordinary here. Think of this as a reward for good and loyal service.’ She met Logan’s eyes. ‘You may not have fully comprehended this yet, but we reward the deserving here,’ she said in a quiet tone. ‘And do not think for a second that we have not noticed your commitment to us. I don’t think that you have taken one single day’s leave of absence since you joined us, have you, Mr. Howlett?’ 

Rather than feeling proud Logan found himself becoming strangely defensive.

‘Never had to,’ he said stiffly, raising his chin in the face of Emma’s unblinking stare. ‘I wasn’t ever sick. Strong constitution, see.’

Emma smiled. ‘So it seems,’ she murmured. 

Logan eyed her for a moment, silently considering what she had said. He frowned.

‘What about Charles?’ he asked abruptly.

Emma blinked. ‘What about Charles?’ she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

‘Who’ll be covering for me?’ Logan demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. ‘Who’ll be looking after him?’

Emma raised a shoulder, shrugging with an impeccable lack of concern.

‘Charles will be fine,’ she said, and Logan could almost hear the small bite of impatience in her voice. ‘We won’t schedule him for anything, or if we do we’ll get one of the others to handle it. I really wouldn’t worry about it, Mr. Howlett.’ Her tone was bored now and her eyes had flicked over to the clock on the wall behind him; and just like that Logan knew that he was about to be dismissed.

‘I’ll just make my way out, then?’ he muttered, knowing that he was unlikely to get anything more out of her now.

Emma’s blue eyes zeroed back in on him.

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘You do that. You will receive the details of your newly-allotted vacation time shortly, I should think. Don’t worry, Mr. Howlett – I assure you that you are only getting what you fully deserve.’

‘Yeah,’ Logan paused, one hand on the door. ‘That’s kinda what I was afraid of.’ And with that he left, determinedly not looking behind him.

His mind was buzzing. Something didn’t sit right. The sudden time off – not to mention Frost’s strange manner … Logan shook his head. 

He walked down the corridor and took a left, his body instinctively seeking out Charles even while his brain was focused elsewhere. Just as he turned around the bend, however, another pair of legs joined his, matching each of his strides with ease. Logan looked up and was barely surprised to see Victor Creed strolling along beside him, looking as cool as a fucking cucumber.

‘Second time in a day,’ Logan growled, raising an eyebrow without breaking his stride. ‘I feel special. There something you wanna tell me, Creed? Maybe ask me out to prom while you’re at it?’

Creed smirked at that, his thick lips parting to once again reveal his sharpened white teeth.

‘I just wanted to see how your meeting with Miss Frost went,’ he said easily. ‘And sorry, Howlett, but my dance card is full.’

Logan snorted.

‘I’m crying on the inside,’ he responded dryly, before sighing and shaking his head. ‘Frost was … Frost, I guess. Whatever that means.’ He gave Creed a sideways look. ‘Apparently I’ve been a good boy. I’m getting extra time off. With pay.’

Creed’s brow wrinkled as he drew it down into a frown.

‘Time off?’ he repeated, puzzled. His eyes searched Logan’s for some sort of deception. ‘With pay?’

‘Yeah,’ Logan said casually, his own eyes scrutinising Creed’s face. ‘At the end of the month. For about a week or so.’

Creed’s expression cleared almost immediately.

‘Oh,’ he said and nodded, smiling. ‘I get you. She’s clearing you for leave when you won’t be needed. Smart lady,’ he glanced over at Logan. ‘Miss Frost, I mean. Making it seem like she’s doing you a favour when really she’s only telling you in advance.’

Logan frowned.

‘Telling me in advance?’ he echoed, feeling strangely wary.

Creed nodded. 

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘You know. What with Charlie being busy and all.’

Logan stiffened.

‘ _Busy?_ ’ he repeated, his tone suddenly dangerous.

Creed didn’t seem to notice.

‘Yeah,’ he said, smirking slightly. He turned to look at Logan. ‘I mean – isn’t he always when Shaw comes in?’

*****

Logan returned to his rooms that night, feeling strangely exhausted. His second talk of the day with Creed had left him filled with a violent rage that not even the thought of seeing Charles could dissipate. Logan had instead directed his feet towards the House gym and training room and had then spent the rest of the afternoon steadily trying to break his knuckles against the biggest and heaviest punching bag that he could find.

It had taken a while, but the anger had eventually left him, only to be replaced with despair. He had then spent the rest of the evening sitting with Charles but, for once, even spending time with his Active was not enough to raise his spirits.

And so he had returned home, angry, exhausted and troubled more deeply than he could say. A state of emotions that was not, he could admit, being helped by the bottle of whisky nestled in at his side, half-drained already as Logan stared at the wall above his television, a scowl on his face.

It was wrong. What was happening – what was _going_ to happen – was very, very wrong. 

He was, he knew, being a hypocrite of immense proportions. He was perfectly happy – well, perhaps _happy_ wasn’t the right word for it – to see Charles pimped out to god knows who on a regular basis most of the time. So what was it about this one particular Assignment that had him so worked up and upset?

Perhaps, Logan thought grimly, it was the fact that the Client in this case was Sebastian fucking Shaw and that his using Charles was a blatant misuse of power on his part, what with his being the goddamned king or director or whatever the hell they called the head of the Dollhouse. Perhaps it was the fact that Frost had deliberately lied to him, knowing how he would react to the news. Perhaps it was the fact that Charles was, presumably, being contracted for a period of five entire days – a length of time almost of unheard of within the Dollhouse for any one Client.

Or perhaps, Logan thought, seething with anger, it was the fact that he, Charles’s _Handler_ , was expected to swan off on holiday to bloody fucking _Aruba_ whilst his charge was left abandoned and alone and defenceless in the hands of someone who was in all probability a massively sick, perverted _bastard_ for five whole fucking days without anyone to watch his back, even though that was Logan’s bloody _job_ , even though that was what he was _there_ for, even though he had promised Charles that he would never, _ever_ allow anything bad to happen to him …

Logan stood up. 

He was still for a moment, blinking away the light haze of alcohol and setting his jaw. Then, his chin raised high with determination, he spun on his heel and stalked over to the computer. He pulled the seat out, switched on the monitor, and loaded up the program. 

Then, with one deep breath, he reached forward and began to type.


	30. Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik tries to make sense of things following his encounter with Mystique.

Erik eyed the television dully and took another swig of his beer. 

Three weeks had passed since his confrontation with Raven but he still could not come to terms with what had happened. He knew it was true – he had seen it with his own eyes, had heard her words with his own ears – and yet he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Raven, the girl who had become his closest friend and ally in his fight against the Dollhouse, was actually an insane, knife-wielding murderer who, if she had been telling the truth, now hosted over thirty-six different personalities inside her head.

Just thinking about it was enough to make him nauseous.

He had woken up, following his encounter with Raven, inside a hospital room where he had been brought and kept overnight to check for signs of concussion. He had immediately discharged himself and made his way to the police station, where he had given a report in which he revealed as much as he could without giving away the fact that he actually knew the murderer. As far as his colleagues were concerned, he had been taken aback by the sight of an unidentified blonde girl next to the body of Nathaniel Essex and so had held off from shooting her, only to be taken down along with the others upon their arrival. Erik stayed at the station just long enough to ensure that there was no way that the police could link the girl who had killed Essex with the girl who had been his neighbour, and, that being settled, he had signed himself out for an indeterminate leave of absence. He had then left the station, driven home, and promptly got good and drunk.

He hadn’t stopped drinking since.

Nor had he, in the time that he had been home, so much as looked at any of the files or notes that he had accumulated on the Dollhouse. He could barely even bring himself to look at the picture of Charles anymore. How could he, knowing what he now knew about the man’s sister? No, he decided, it was far better for him to stay on the other side of the room, ignoring the existence of the Dollhouse and getting drunk enough to remove all memory of it from his brain. And so that was what he did.

Truth be told, Erik had given up. He hadn’t said it out loud yet, but the realisation was slowly beginning to seep through his alcohol-filled haze. He had had enough. He didn’t want to do this anymore. Not now.

Not after Raven. 

And so he remained where he was, ignoring all calls, making no attempt to contact his department, and drinking himself to sleep each night, trying to drown out the fierce, angry part of his brain that raged against his current lethargy and condemned him for being a failure.

He was awakened one morning by the sound of the post arriving, clattering through his letter-box and falling to the floor with a thump. He blinked, suddenly awake, and realised that he had fallen asleep on the sofa – not an unusual habit for him these days. He blinked once and then winced as a bolt of pain shot through his head, causing him to groan and close his eyes. He stayed like that for a moment until he realised that he really ought to move and get himself a glass of water and some aspirin. That decided, he got up and moved to the kitchen. 

Two minutes later and he had drained two very large glasses of water and was feeling marginally better, although the throbbing pain in his temples hadn’t quietened much. Still feeling slightly groggy, he shuffled out of the kitchen and made his way back to the living room. As he passed, he caught sight of the pile of envelopes on his doorstep and he paused. He regarded the pile blankly for a moment before reaching down, groaning when this caused his head to give to particularly painful throb, and collecting the letters before slowly straightening and walking to his living room, where he set everything down on a table.

Then, scratching his face and yawning, he decided that a trip to the bathroom was in order and, following that, some sort of breakfast would be ideal. Not the liquid sort this time, he resolved. Hopefully he still had _something_ solid left in the fridge. Leftover takeout, maybe, if he was lucky.

He progressed through the morning in the same sort of manner, filled with lethargy and a now-constant headache. Watching television didn’t help but he couldn’t be bothered to do much else and so it was evening before he decided that further, actual sustenance was in order.

Spotting a leaflet advertising a new Chinese restaurant in the pile of post that he had brought in, Erik leaned over and snagged the pile, bringing it over to him so he could peruse it at his leisure. He sorted through the envelopes, grunting every now and then at the bills and tossing the junk mail away with little more than a snort. He was just about to do the same to one of the smaller, thinner envelopes, assuming it to be another piece of junk mail or some sort of demand for a donation, when something made him stop. He paused and looked at the envelope carefully, his heart beating loudly for some reason that he could not immediately identify.

His eye travelled down the address printed on the front and he let out a breath, seeing what his subconscious had realised moments before. 

All of his other mail had been addressed to a ‘Mr.’ Lenhsherr. This one, however, was addressed to ‘ _Detective_ ’ Lehnsherr.

All official documentation usually went through the police department. This one had been directed to his home. 

Erik hesitated. He had deliberately been avoiding anything work-related since his report following his team’s team failure to bring Essex in. He glanced down at the envelope, his expression tight. He didn’t know if he should open it. He didn’t know if he _wanted_ to open it.

For some reason, then, his eyes flicked up and, before he knew it, his gaze had fallen on the wall opposite; the wall bearing the picture of Charles Xavier. Erik stared at the picture for a long moment, taking in the soft, encouraging expression on Charles’s face. Then, setting his jaw, he flipped the envelope over and tore it open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. It had a message on it, typed out neatly: short and to the point.

_Shaw. Friday 26th. 18.00._

And then:

_End this._

Erik stared, suddenly afraid to breathe. If this was what he thought it was … 

He scrutinised the message again. There was no signature, nor any identifying mark anywhere. No way to tell who had sent it. And yet Erik knew of only one person who it could be from. But why would Raven send him another message? Why now? After the way they had parted, he had assumed that she would want to give up all ties to him. Did this mean that she needed help?

He looked down at the message again and shook his head, perplexed. It was all very well to send him a time and date but it meant _nothing_ without a location. What was the point of giving him that information if he had no way of actually using it?

It was then that he noticed a shadowy area on the paper, a faint darkness that – that made it look like there was something printed underneath …

Erik flipped the paper around. And immediately caught his breath.

There, on the back, was a map. It was a map of the city. And there, on the map, marked with a big, black cross, was –

‘Shit,’ Erik swore, his eyes wide. 

He had it. He _had_ it. There, in his hands, lay the location of the Dollhouse.

Erik’s eyes pored over the map and he swore again. He _knew_ the place. He must have walked or driven past there a hundred times or more. And all that time, he hadn’t suspected a thing.

‘Christ,’ he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Christ,’ he said again, unable to do anything else. 

He took a deep, fortifying breath.

Right, he thought. First things first.

He looked at the message again. The 26th. That was four days away. Four days … The Dollhouse could cease to exist in just under a week. The thought almost made Erik shiver. Four days … he could easily call together a tactical team and have the whole mission planned down to the minutest detail so that the Dollhouse and everyone within could be apprehended and then he would find Charles and – and – 

Erik felt his heart sink.

And Raven.

Because, he realised, there was no way that Raven would miss this. And if she was there when he and his team brought down the Dollhouse … if the men who had seen her in Essex’s apartment _recognised_ her and realised who she was …

Erik turned his face away, suddenly feeling bitter.

He couldn’t do it. No matter who she was or what she had done or what was at stake, Erik couldn’t do it. He simply could not risk Raven getting captured, even if a part of him secretly believed that it might be the best thing for her. He couldn’t risk Raven like that, not when there was a chance that she might be apprehended and charged and – Christ, she wasn’t even fully _sane_ , she didn’t know what she was _doing_ , Erik was sure of it – and Erik couldn’t let that happen. Not to her. Not to his friend. Not to Charles Xavier’s sister.

His mouth twisting in self-deprecation, he looked back down to the piece of paper in his hands. And sighed.

No, he decided, almost regretfully. He could not repay Raven for the information she had given him – that she had _trusted him_ enough to give him – by turning her in like that. She may be a liar and she may be a murderer but she had also been Erik’s friend. That friendship might not have been real for her but it had damn well been real on Erik’s part and that _meant_ something, whether he wanted it to or not.

Besides, Erik thought ruefully, glancing from the paper in his hands to the notes scattered around his apartment, he had started this investigation alone; it was only fitting that he ended it the same way as well.

That decided, he straightened up. He would go to the location marked on the map on the 26th, he would arrest Shaw, and, after making sure that Raven was nowhere near, he would call for back-up so that the police could once and for all shut down the cancerous blight on his city that was the Dollhouse.

He glanced down at his watch, suddenly feeling a sense of urgency. He had a lot to do in very little time. Surveillance, for instance. Just because he was going in alone did not mean that he had to go in blind. Not _completely_ blind, at any rate. Erik was a lot of things but he wasn’t stupid; he had time before Shaw arrived and he was damn well going to use that to his advantage in whatever way he could.

Which meant, he thought, looking down at himself with a grimace, that a shower was very much in order. And perhaps a visit to the nearest supermarket to stock his fridge up with something other than alcohol. And, if he could fit it in, a visit to the gym.

The time for inaction and self-pity was over.

He had work to do.


	31. Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a lull in the Dollhouse on the day before Shaw's visit.

‘Don’t look now, doctor,’ giggled one of the nurses, coming up behind him and whispering in his ear, ‘But I think you have an admirer.’

The doctor, intrigued, followed the nurse’s line of sight and turned to glance at the admirer in question. Drained as he was from spending most of the previous night in the operating theatre, it took him a moment to register that the person he was looking at was a man. A very _male_ man, if the sideburns indicated anything, and his gaze was definitely focused on the doctor. 

Frowning slightly, the doctor quickly turned away before the man staring at him could notice that he was staring back. 

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Rosie,’ he said, turning to the nurse with a wry smile, ‘But I seriously doubt that he’s an admirer of mine.’

The nurse’s eyebrows rose.

‘Oh, do you know him?’ she asked, looking interested.

The doctor shook his head.

‘No,’ he said, but then he frowned. ‘I don’t think so, at least.’ He paused, feeling slightly perplexed. ‘He _does_ look vaguely familiar, though …’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps – perhaps I met him once, somewhere …’

‘Why don’t you go over and say hello?’ the nurse said encouragingly. ‘You’re all finished here, anyway.’

The doctor bit his lip, hesitating. He then glanced over at the man again before nodding.

‘Yes, all right,’ he said, smiling at the nurse. ‘I suppose he _does_ look very familiar …’

‘Good,’ the nurse smiled. She held out her hand for him to shake. ‘This is where we part ways, then. It was a real pleasure working with you, doctor,’ she added, sounding quite genuine. ‘I’m very glad that they brought you in. Your work in the theatre last night was incredible – I’ve honestly never seen anything like it.’ She gave him a wink, slowly retreating as she did. ‘Think about us, if you ever feel like leaving St. Benedict’s.’

The doctor smiled at that. ‘I will.’

He watched her until she turned down one of the corridors before smiling and turning around. The smile quickly slid off his face, however, when he saw that the man with the sideburns was still watching him, his gaze steady and unflinching. 

Something about the man irked him, the doctor admitted. He couldn’t recall having ever met the man before in his entire life and yet there was something so damn _familiar_ about him all the same …

Making up his mind, the doctor steeled himself and strode forward.

‘Hello,’ he said, coming to a stop directly in front of the man, a forced smile firmly in place. ‘Can I help you in some way?’

The man – who didn’t seem to be at all surprised by his approach, the doctor noted – didn’t answer immediately. He watched the doctor for a moment, before nodding. 

‘Yeah,’ he said finally, slowly straightening up. ‘Yeah, you can. It’s time for your treatm-’ the man paused suddenly, his sentence coming to an abrupt stop. A flicker of indecision crossed his face. He swallowed, then, looking almost pained, and the doctor nearly started forward in concern at the man’s odd expression. Finally, with an obvious effort, the man tightened his jaw and looked up, his expression resolute. His voice was low and gruff when he spoke and he did not meet the doctor’s eyes.

‘Do you – do you maybe wanna get coffee someplace?’ His jaw snapped shut after the words had been spoken and he stared determinedly at the floor, his whole body tense.

There was silence. The doctor opened his mouth but then quickly shut it again, not knowing what to say. It appeared that Rosie had been right, he thought dumbly – the man _did_ seem to be something of an admirer. Part of him wanted to laugh at that and the other part of him wanted to cringe with embarrassment. He stared at the man, wide-eyed, wondering what he ought to do. As he looked at the man, however, something inside of him began to soften. He then suddenly realised with a jolt of surprise that he didn’t actually find the idea of having coffee with this man as objectionable as he had expected. It wasn’t as if he looked very threatening, after all. And the man had a kind face, the doctor decided. Gruff, certainly, but kind nonetheless. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more the man seemed to be really quite … _trustworthy_. 

‘Sure,’ he found himself saying. ‘Sure, that sounds fine. I think I’d like that. The canteen’s just around the corner, if you like?’ The question came out surprisingly tentative.

The stranger stared at him for a moment, looking almost startled by the acquiescence, before he schooled his expression and nodded slowly.

‘Yeah,’ he muttered, sounding resigned. ‘Yeah. That sounds okay.’

The doctor gave him a hesitant smile and gestured for the man to follow him. He was surprised to find that he wasn’t at all worried. Sure, he wasn’t entirely certain what the hell he was doing, agreeing to have coffee with a complete stranger, but for some reason he was pretty sure that it would all turn out fine.

This man, he felt, could be trusted. 

He had never been more certain of anything in his life.

*****

Logan wondered, for perhaps the thousandth time in the last ten minutes, what the heck he thought he was doing, because there was no way in hell that this would not come back to bite him in the ass.

He was sitting in the hospital cafeteria. With Charles. Drinking coffee. Again, with Charles.

He was having _coffee_ with _Charles_.

His chest constricted at the thought and he scowled, feeling more than a little annoyed with himself. Here he was, jeopardising his entire future for a goddamn coffee date and yet he still couldn’t stop himself from acting like a lovestruck teenage _girl_. He frowned at the thought and stared moodily down at the table, while Charles chattered on, oblivious to his turmoil. Logan didn’t have a clue what he was talking about – most of what Charles was saying was flying _way_ over his head – but he didn’t have the heart to stop him. Not when he looked so happy. Not when this might potentially be the –

‘Are you even listening to me?’

Logan came out of his reverie to see Charles watching him with a raised eyebrow. He opened his mouth to grunt out an affirmative but, instead, found himself saying, ‘I shouldn’t be doing this.’

There was a pause. Then Charles cocked his head to the side and frowned at him.

‘Shouldn’t be doing what?’ he asked, puzzled.

Logan considered lying for a moment before realising the futility of it – Charles was only going to go and forget it all again anyway – and he sighed, shrugging dully.

‘This,’ he grunted out, jerking his chin towards Charles and giving him a wry look. ‘It’s against regulations, see? For good reason, too, probably. Can’t say they’d be too pleased to know that I was doing this.’ He shook his head and let out a humourless snort. ‘Heck, Frost would have my head if she knew that I was taking you out for _coffee_ instead of bringing you straight back home. Probably get some big ol’ speech about _fraternising with the Actives_ or some shit like that.’ He snorted again, smiling bitterly.

Charles, meanwhile, had gone very still.

‘Frost?’ he repeated in a small voice, sounding slightly agitated. A wrinkle was forming on his forehead and his fingers were tightening imperceptibly on his coffee cup. ‘Actives?’ He shook his head, stammering slightly. ‘I - I’m afraid that I really don’t understand. I – What are you saying?’

Logan blinked. He glanced over at Charles and, upon seeing his agitated expression, bit back a curse.

‘Shit,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Sorry. It’s okay, Chuck,’ he said quickly, meeting Charles’s eyes and reaching out to brush his hand. ‘You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything’s all right. You can trust me.’

Charles blinked once, his eyes still foggy and confused, and then, in the next second, his expression cleared. 

‘With my life,’ he responded, and smiled.

Logan had to look away.

‘You were saying?’ Charles continued, back in character again, his momentary agitation all but forgotten.

‘Right,’ Logan reluctantly pulled his hand back from where it had been resting on Charles’s. ‘Yeah. I just meant – I’m not supposed to be doing this. Sitting here with you, I mean.’ He sighed and rubbed his neck tiredly. ‘But I guess if this is gonna be it …’ he let out a dry chuckle. ‘I mean, Frost can’t really _fire_ me after this, can she?’

Charles just stared at him with a bemused expression and shrugged, smiling helplessly. 

Which, Logan supposed, was a perfectly acceptable reaction, considering. ‘Yeah,’ he huffed, nodding at Charles’s mystified expression. ‘I thought as much.’ He then straightened up and met Charles’s eyes, looking suddenly serious. ‘See, the thing is … if it all goes according to plan, then this – this will be the last time we will ever work together.’ He swallowed. ‘I know that this doesn’t really mean anything to you right now, but maybe when you’re – well, when you’re _you_ again, you’ll …’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind,’ he said, a self-deprecating smile on his face. ‘It’s not important anyway. Just – hopefully you get to go home tomorrow, that’s all.’

For some reason, Charles – who by this time probably thought that he was some kind of crazy-ass idiot, Logan reflected gloomily – seemed to find this last statement amusing. 

‘That’s very good of you,’ he said, giving Logan a cheery smile, ‘But I’m actually off duty as of ten minutes ago. In fact,’ he glanced down at his wrist and made a small noise when he saw the time, ‘I really ought to leave now if I want to make it back home in time for dinner.’ He made an apologetic face. ‘I’m so sorry to cut this short.’ He smiled at Logan. ‘This was actually pretty nice. Talking to you, I mean. One of the things about working in a hospital,’ he said confidingly as he got to his feet, ‘You tend to forget the pleasures of simple human conversation.’ He turned to face Logan then and bit his lip. ‘Um,’ he said slightly uncomfortably, ‘I’m back in town again next week as well. If you wanted to get together for drinks or something again?’ The offer was awkwardly-put but there was no doubting the genuine warmth behind the invitation.

And yet Logan hesitated. His mouth tasted bitter. He wanted to say yes. There was no reason not to – Christ, Charles wouldn’t even _remember_ this conversation in an hour’s time – but for some reason – some damned stupid fucking reason – Logan’s mouth was sticking on the word ‘yes’. Maybe it was the awkward expression on Charles’s face; maybe it was because he’d always had trouble lying to his Active; maybe it was because tomorrow was _the day_ … 

‘Tell you what,’ he said gruffly, finally meeting Charles’s eyes, ‘Let’s wait until tomorrow, okay bub? And then – you can see whether you feel like having that drink with me then, okay?’

Charles looked perplexed at the noncommittal answer but he took it in his stride and shrugged.

‘Suit yourself,’ he said, smiling cheerily. He then turned and nodded towards the door. ‘That’s me. Going my way?’

Logan’s mouth turned up at the corner.

‘Yeah,’ he said, taking a deep breath and slowly getting to his feet. ‘Yeah I am.’ He moved around the table and came to stand by Charles’s shoulder. ‘Oh and by the way?’

Charles glanced up at him with a smile of polite interest. ‘Yes?’ he asked.

Logan looked him straight in the eye.

‘It’s time for your treatment,’ he said.

And Charles immediately looked up, smiled, and – just as he had done hundreds of times before – turned and followed Logan out of the room; unquestioning, obedient, and docile as a lamb.

*****

Emma Frost stood at the balcony overlooking the heart of the Dollhouse, her face expressionless as she looked out over her realm. Outwardly she looked unmoving; calm and cold and still as a glass statue.

Inside, however, her heart was beating with pride and a feeling of deep contentment was settling within her bones. This, she thought with satisfaction. This was hers. She had built this. Not literally, perhaps, and not alone, but still; it was hers. The Dollhouse belonged to her and she belonged to the Dollhouse.

Her eyes roved almost lovingly over the inhabitants of the House, finally coming to rest on the two figures who were just now walking down from the Programming Room, one with his hand on the other’s back, guiding him. Her eyes then flicked down to the delicate silver filigree watch clasped around her wrist, and she let out a low hum of consideration. Her eyes wandered back to the two figures and a small, crooked smile appeared on her lips.

‘Dear Mr. Howlett,’ she murmured under her breath, idly tracing her fingers up and down the balcony railing. ‘Whatever have you been doing for the last hour?’

She watched with interest as Logan led his Active to a chair and seated him there before sitting down carefully beside him. She couldn’t help but smile at that. Loath as she was to admit it, she found the two of them rather sweet. Slightly pathetic, true, but sweet nonetheless. She’d always had something of a soft spot for Logan, she could admit to herself, and Charles – well. Charles was another matter altogether. She frowned slightly and averted her gaze. Thinking about Charles only led her to one place:

Shaw. 

Shaw, who was expected to arrive at the Dollhouse the very next evening.

As if on cue, Mr. Creed appeared at her shoulder, as silent as a ghost.

‘All the preparations have been made for Mr. Shaw’s visit tomorrow, Miss Frost,’ he murmured with an obsequious nod of the head.

Emma tilted her own in acknowledgement.

‘Very good,’ she replied, still facing away from Creed and looking out over the balcony. ‘I trust you have followed my instructions to the letter?’

‘Every word, ma’am,’ Creed answered deferentially. He hesitated then, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Emma, catching the movement out of the corner of her eye, turned to him with a raised eyebrow, forcing him to speak. ‘It’s just that – some of the arrangements, ma’am – I do not fully understand-’

‘Are you questioning me, Mr. Creed?’ Emma interrupted him, her voice silky. 

Creed froze. He opened his mouth and then shut it and then quickly shook his head. 

Emma hid a smirk. She allowed him to stew for a few moments before magnanimously relenting.

‘I assure you, Mr. Creed,’ she said smoothly, turning back to look down at the rest of the House, ‘that you have no need to worry. I never do anything without good reason. Mr. Shaw’s visit is not common knowledge, you see. And I would quite like to keep it that way. Do you understand?’

Creed hesitated again before nodding quickly.

‘Good,’ Emma said crisply. ‘Mr. Shaw values his privacy, Mr. Creed. And, as I am sure you know, discretion is the cornerstone of the Dollhouse.’

‘Yes, Miss Frost,’ Creed murmured, his head bowed. He hovered at her elbow for a moment before she jerked her head in dismissal. Creed gave her a quick, respectful nod in return before quickly moving away, soundless as always.

Emma watched him leave, a thoughtful expression on her face. Creed was a valued aide, she mused. So loyal and eager to help. 

It was … pleasing.

She nodded to herself, her thoughts once more in order. Then, ever so slowly, she turned back towards the balcony and began, once again, to watch over her flock.

Her lambs, after all, were in need of tending.


	32. Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik makes the first move, setting events in motion.

Erik watched as the fourth black-car-with-tinted-windows of the day emerged from the underground parking lot, and quashed down his growing impatience by making a note of the departure in his notebook. Since the day that he had received the message about Shaw he had spent almost every waking moment parked outside the Dollhouse, scrutinising the area and making careful note of all those who came and went. 

He had spotted the entrance to the Dollhouse – or, at least, the rear entrance – almost immediately. It wasn’t actually all that hard when you knew where to look. This entrance seemed to be the way from which all the Dolls and their minders seemed to come and go. It also seemed, to Erik, to be the most direct route to where he needed to go – straight to the heart of the Dollhouse. If Erik had learned one thing during his six months in the Burglary division, it was that breaking and entering was _always_ infinitely easier from the backdoor: the front door had bolts and chains and the disadvantage of nosey neighbours and prying eyes; the backdoor, on the other hand, was a gateway to the heart of the house and was usually only barred by one very simple lock and a few rubbish bins. While the Dollhouse was obviously no ordinary residence, Erik was very much hoping that this principle held true all the same.

He had in the past two weeks come up with several different plans on how to effect an entrance into the Dollhouse. Anxious though he was, he now felt reasonably confident that he would be able to get in one way or another. Getting out, however, was another matter, but he tried not to worry too much about this. He would be fine, just as long as everything went according to plan …

He glanced down at his watch. It was not yet noon. He had hours before Shaw arrived, he knew, but he wanted to be on the safe side: he would enter the Dollhouse as early as he could and then find a way to stay out of sight for the next few hours until he knew that Shaw was actually present. Hopefully, in that time, he would find Raven and warn her to get the heck out of dodge. Then he would be able to call in the Dollhouse’s location to the police department, cuff Shaw in a pair of shiny brand-new handcuffs, and emerge victorious, a hero in the eyes of all.

Well - that was the theory, anyway.

Erik shifted in his seat and glowered at the unprepossessing glass-and-steel exterior of the buildings veiling the Dollhouse from view. He had been sat behind the seat of his vehicle for hours now, and his back was beginning to feel the effects of it. He stubbornly refused to move, however. He wouldn’t, not until – 

Ah.

There he was. 

In the two weeks that Erik had been watching the comings and goings of the Dollhouse employees, he’d had many ideas on how to gain access to the building. The most sensible of these, however, involved the use of Ugly Smoking Guy.

Ugly Smoking Guy (named so because of his unattractive exterior and his unhealthy addiction to Marlboros) was a guy who entered and exited the Dollhouse rather frequently. Unlike most of the others that Erik saw come and go from the House, Ugly Smoking Guy was always alone – probably because he wasn’t trusted enough to look after any of the Dolls, Erik figured. The man was tall, broad and built like a brick wall, and Erik guessed that he was more of a general security man than anyone with a proper, hands-on role, which suited Erik just fine. 

He had taken to studying Ugly Smoking Guy and had found, to his pleasure, that he had a routine: the man took two, hour-long breaks a day, one in the evening and the other, very conveniently, just after noon. He would drive out from the underground parking lot in the same black car, unremarkable but for the small purple dinosaur that hung from the inside rear-view mirror. He would then proceed to a nearby diner where he would spend the next forty-five minutes consuming a cholesterol-heavy lunch while glancing down at a newspaper and flirting with the same tired-looking and unimpressed waitress as he always did. Upon finishing, he would then go and use the diner’s bathroom before leaving the diner and returning to his car. He would then usually light up one of his beloved Marlboros in the parking lot before eventually grinding the stub beneath his heel and driving back to the Dollhouse. 

Erik’s first instinct had been to ambush the man in the diner bathroom or the parking lot, knock him out and stuff him in the back of the car, and then take his place in the driver’s seat. Time and good sense, however, had allowed him to readjust the plan; there was no sense in provoking a confrontation out here, after all, and god knows that he would need all of his strength and skill when he was _inside_ the Dollhouse. No, it wouldn’t do to attack the man – a former military man, at that, by look of him – in broad daylight where anyone might come across them; nor would it do him any good to drive away in the man’s car only to be stopped at the gates of the Dollhouse for the want of any proper key or password or whatever super-secret shit you needed to enter the clubhouse.

No, Erik had eventually decided. Everything would be much easier if he allowed the security man to continue as usual and then just … tagged along for the ride. Preferably without the man realising it.

And so that was how, thirty minutes later, Erik found himself squeezed into the boot of a big black car, having jimmied the lock open and contorted himself into a shape that a gymnast twenty years his junior would’ve be proud of. He had no doubt that he would suffer greatly on his exit from the car but he tried not to think too much about that now. He would just have to suck it up and get over it. 

‘Getting over it’ was easier said than done, however. Not even five minutes after cramming himself into the car, Erik found himself bitterly regretting his decision to not club the driver over the head and steal the car for himself. His knees were killing him and he was pretty sure that he would emerge hunchbacked from the car at the end of the journey, but by far the worst thing about his idea was the heat. Erik had removed his jacket and loosened his shirt buttons before stepping into the car but that could only help so much. The car had been parked out in broad daylight and the sun was directly overhead. Erik had been sweating even before he had shut the car door over himself; now that it was shut he was practically baking in his skin.

He spent the next ten minutes or so cursing his goddamned idiotic idea in the filthiest language possible before the muffled sound of a footstep caused him to freeze, all senses immediately on alert and his discomfort automatically forgotten. He held his breath as the footsteps seemed to stop directly in front of him and his heart started to beat faster. Surely the man wouldn’t look in the trunk of the car? He had never done so before, surely he wouldn’t do so now – today of all days?

The moment seemed to go on forever. Then the man outside suddenly sneezed and the footsteps resumed once more. A few steps onward and then came the jingle of keys followed by the sound of a lock turning. A door was opened and then the whole car shook as someone entered it. There was the sound of the door slamming and then, a moment later, the keys turned in the ignition and the car started up, the thrum of the engine reverberating through the entire vehicle and into Erik’s very bones. He gritted his teeth as a drop of sweat slid slowly down his neck and resolutely ignored it, concentrating instead on the movement of the car.

The exit out of the diner parking lot was painfully bumpy and Erik suppressed a snarl as the car dipped and rattled over the rocky surface. He breathed a sigh of relief once they hit the smooth road away from the diner but then immediately swallowed a curse as a familiar smell hit his nostrils. Smoke. At first Erik couldn’t help but dumbly think that the sweltering heat inside the car had actually caused the interior to catch on fire but a second later he recognised the smell for what it was. Cigarette smoke. The goddamn bastard was smoking in his car. 

Erik couldn’t help but curse his luck. The man must have been running too late to enjoy his cigarette in the parking lot and must have instead decided to smoke whilst driving back to work. Erik gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, cursing viciously under his breath. There was no way around it: someone out there _really_ hated him. 

The journey from the diner to the Dollhouse took less than ten minutes but to Erik it may as well have been seventy. He tensed each time the car slowed down and his heart thrummed wildly in his chest each time he heard the murmured words that signified that the car had reached a checkpoint or security block. As the seconds ticked by, Erik found himself getting increasingly more paranoid. Each time the car stopped or slowed he was sure that the game was up. Surely, he thought wildly to himself, surely in a building with such heightened security they wouldn’t be fooled by such a ridiculous trick as hiding in the boot of the car?

And yet it seemed that it was so. The car slowed down and, after a few minutes of careful manoeuvring, Erik felt it begin to reverse into what was doubtlessly a parking space. He breathed a sigh of relief when it finally stopped and the engine cut off. He waited patiently for the sudden lift in the car’s carriage and the slam of the door that signalled the man’s departure from the car, holding on until the sound of footsteps receded in the distance before wriggling about so that he was positioned against the car lock. He then took a deep breath and, after counting to a hundred, cracked the door of the boot open. His eyes immediately flickered shut as a cool breeze entered the car and he shivered even whilst enjoying the sensation. Peering through the crack, he strained his ears to listen but heard nothing. Finally, gritting his teeth, he gently lifted the door of the car and, keeping a watchful eye out all the while, quickly clambered out the boot. 

He just stood there for a moment, following his exit, shaking slightly. He badly wanted to slump down against the car to quell the trembling numbness in his limbs but he instead forced himself to stand up straight. He flexed his arms as he closed the door of the car and then spent the next few minutes trying to work out the kinks in his back from the punishing ride. When he at last felt ready to move on, he straightened up, letting out a low groan at the audible _click_ his back gave at the movement. He then quickly straightened his shirt, slung his jacket over his arm and, after checking his reflection in the mirror, turned and cautiously made his way over to the end of the underground parking-lot.

It was a few minutes before he reached the end of the car park and he was relieved to see a sign pointing to the way in. Approaching the well-lit area, he saw that there was a door up ahead. No, he corrected himself – not a door, exactly. It was, in fact, a set of elevator doors and, as Erik came closer, his heart sank a little. Instead of a normal button at the side of the elevator there was a card slot; next to the card slot was a keypad. Erik grimaced. Doubtless a security pass and key code were necessary to summon the elevator. Erik had naturally expected as much but it was still disheartening to see. He had rather been hoping for the traditional security guard and keyhole combo, but, of course, the Dollhouse was slightly more sophisticated than that. 

He stared at the elevator grimly, trying to come up with a decent plan. He would have to be quick about it, he knew; his position between the elevator and the car park was precarious at best, and, worse still, there was virtually no cover for him to hide behind. He gritted his teeth and took a moment to consider his options. He could bypass the security system, no problem, but that would take time and it would be obvious to anyone who passed what it was that he was doing. On the other hand, he couldn’t just stand about, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for - 

At that moment he heard the squeal of car brakes and he immediately ducked low and out of sight. Glancing around, he quickly peeled away from the wall and darted around the side, coming to a low crouch near the wheels of a car parked conveniently close-by. He then watched, eyes narrowed, as a sleek black car pulled up into one of the parking spots and came to a stop with a smooth purr. Moments later, the door of the car opened and a man stepped out. Another security man, Erik mentally tagged him, eyeing the functional black uniform that differed from the smart suits used by those who escorted the Dolls in and out of the House. The man was likely returning from his lunch break, just like Ugly Smoking Guy. 

Well, Erik thought as he watched the man walk towards the lift doors, let it never be said that Erik Lehnsherr was not a man to seize welcome opportunities with both hands.

He waited until the man was almost at the lift doors before darting around the car he was hidden behind, pausing only to don his suit jacket. He then waited until the man at the elevator had taken out his pass key before striding forward, watching with deceptively keen eyes as the man swiped his card and tapped out a code on the keypad.

‘Ah,’ Erik said as he came to a stop, causing the man to look up. His eyes flicked over Erik, from his well-tailored suit to the hand that was midway out of his trouser pocket in the midst of the act of retrieval. Curiosity satisfied, he gave Erik a nod before turning to look away, patiently waiting for the lift to arrive.

Erik let out an inaudible sigh of relief and pulled his hand away from his pocket. It was astonishing, really, what a good suit and strong body language allowed you to get away with. He mentally thanked whatever gods were listening for the obsessive part of his personality that had pushed him to spend hours upon hours searching for a suit that was the perfect replica of those worn by the men that he had seen chaperoning the Dolls in and out of the House. First impressions were, after all, the strongest.

There was a low _ding_ and then the elevator doors opened. The man in front of Erik nodded amiably at him and gestured for him to go in first, and Erik did so readily, nodding at the man in return.

‘What floor?’ the man asked, following him into the elevator with an easy smile.

Erik quickly scanned the buttons on the side of the elevator. ‘Ground floor for me, please,’ he said smoothly.

The other man nodded and pressed the appropriate button. There was a momentary pause but then, much to Erik’s displeasure, the man began to talk.

‘Haven’t seen you around here before,’ he said pleasantly, ‘You new?’

Erik had tensed in suspicion at the question but he quickly relaxed upon viewing the open expression on the other man’s face. After a moment of consideration he reluctantly decided that his best option was to answer the question instead of ignoring it.

‘Yeah,’ he muttered grudgingly, giving the man a nod of acknowledgement. ‘That’s right. I’m new.’

The other man nodded at that.

‘You’re lucky,’ he said enviously, eyes lingering on Erik’s suit, a sharp contrast to his own plain black ensemble. ‘Being a Handler, and all. I didn’t know they were taking more on, otherwise I would have put my name forward.’

Erik let out a noise of polite agreement. ‘Yes,’ he said, gritting his teeth behind his bland smile. ‘I feel very lucky.’

‘I bet,’ the man grinned, seeming not to notice Erik’s halting reply. ‘You Handlers get to have all the fun. What’s it like, anyway?’

Erik hid a scowl, wondering why the man wouldn’t shut the hell up. He was having a very hard time figuring out why he shouldn’t just knock the man on the back of the head and gag him with his belt. It was only the fear of ruining his mission that kept him from doing so.

‘It’s good,’ he said instead, plastering on a fake smile. ‘It’s … very interesting work.’

The other man laughed at that.

‘Interesting is one word for it,’ he said, smirking slightly. Then: ‘Who did you say you were Handling again?’

The question was casual enough but it caught Erik completely by surprise.

‘I – I didn’t say,’ he said after a moment, hoping that it would be enough.

The man turned to him and gave him a look. ‘Right,’ he said flatly. ‘Come on, man. I’m just asking. Who’s your Doll?’

Erik’s mind was completely blank. He cast around for a name to say and, in his desperation, found himself hitting on the one name that never seemed to be far from his thoughts these days.

‘Charles,’ he said before he was able to stop himself. ‘I – Charles. It’s Charles.’

The other man stared at him for a moment and Erik’s hand instinctively crept closer to the concealed gun at his waist. Shit, he cursed silently, angry with himself, _Charles is his **real** name. These guys probably call the Dolls by fucking **numbers** or some-_

‘Huh,’ the man said with a shrug, breaking Erik’s train of thought as he turned back to look at the front of the lift. ‘I thought Howlett had him.’

Erik’s eyes flickered close for a moment and he let out a mental sigh of relief. _Howlett,_ he thought mentally. _Howlett has Charles._ He would remember that.

‘No,’ he said instead, sounding almost breathless. ‘Not anymore. Charles is mine now.’

The other man nodded easily at that but didn’t say anything further. A few seconds passed and then the lift finally came to a halt with a light _ding_. 

‘Well,’ the man said, stepping forward and smiling at Erik as the doors slowly slid open. ‘It’s been swell talking to you but I’d best be on my way now – the Doc’s expecting me and I don’t want to be late. _You_ know how MacTaggart is about punctuality, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Erik agreed distractedly, nodding his head vaguely even as his eyes zeroed in on the gleaming-white room that had been revealed through the opening lift doors, ‘He’s a real stickler for punctuality.’

He realised almost immediately that he had said the wrong thing. The man at his side stiffened and turned to look at him with a bemused expression. As Erik watched, the man’s eyes seemed to cloud over and he took a step backwards inside the elevator, his forehead creased in confusion.

Erik really had no choice.

Before the man could complete his thought-process, Erik stepped forward, grabbed him by the back of the head and then slammed him down sharply onto his raised knee. The man didn’t make a sound: he was out before he fell to the floor. 

The whole thing had taken less than five seconds.

Erik quickly looked around, peering out of the elevator in order to see if his attack had been witnessed. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, however, so he quickly ducked down over the body of the unconscious man and started to rifle through his pockets. He hastily pulled out the man’s key card and I.D. and slipped them into his own pocket. He then patted down the body once more, pausing only to remove the man’s gun from its holster and tuck it into his jacket before rising and calmly walking out of the lift. He paused there for a moment, wondering what to do, before sighing and turning back to look at the body on the floor of the elevator. 

It was way too risky to leave him in the lift, he decided; he would have to find somewhere to stash the body, and quick.

He glanced around. He blinked after a moment and frowned. He had imagined that the Dollhouse would be _much_ busier than this. Instead, there didn’t seem to be anyone about and the dearth of people on the _ground floor_ of the building was making Erik feel somewhat anxious. Surely there must be someone about? His eyes then drifted to the body on the elevator floor and he grimaced, remembering that someone _had_ been about and that he had just knocked him out. Shaking his head, he quickly shrugged off his paranoia and instead turned to scrutinise the area around him. 

Sighting a door a little way away, he quickly slipped out of the elevator and made his way over to it. He paused when he reached it, brought to a stop by the presence of a card reader in front of the door. He frowned for a moment before pulling out his freshly-stolen key card and swiping it through the reader. He let out a short breath when the light flashed green and he then cautiously reached out and, grasping the door handle, pushed open the door. To his immense relief, the room was empty. Casting his eye over it once more, Erik then headed back to the elevator where, grasping the man by the ankles, he quickly dragged him out of the lift. Glancing about wildly, he then proceeded to pull the man over to the room, pausing only to swipe his card against the reader once more before pushing the door open and tugging the man in, allowing the door to gently swing shut behind him. It was then the work of a moment to drag the unconscious security guard over to one of the numerous convenient cupboards that he had spotted before and – with only a small, momentary pang of guilt – stuff the body into it. 

That done, Erik straightened up and turned his full attention to his current situation. He had made it. He was now inside the Dollhouse. He had managed to set foot in a place that was as damn close to mythical as anyplace on earth, somewhere that – to his knowledge – no outsider had ever infiltrated before.

And he was that much closer to Charles.

The thought was a heady one and he had to reach out and rest his palm against one of the cold, smooth walls in order to ground himself. After a moment he straightened up, in control of himself once more. He then turned to look over at the door. He had originally planned to lay low upon entering the Dollhouse but now he found that he wasn’t as keen on this idea as he had been before. He wasn’t likely to find out anything by staying put, after all. 

His decision made, he patted the gun at his hip for reassurance before taking a deep breath and striding over to the door. He paused for a moment in front of it, a sudden nameless emotion rising up in him, before he determinedly stifled it and, seizing the handle, pulled the door open and strode through. 

This time when he emerged out into the lobby he did not pause but instead walked to the centre of the building where he finally stopped and allowed himself to look around. 

The place was huge. 

He hadn’t fully appreciated it upon exiting the elevator but he could see it now: the place was enormous. It was circular in shape, with many doors and corridors leading off in different directions, and staircases that led upwards to who-knew-how-many floors. The crisp whiteness of the walls and the gleaming floor only added to the immense magnitude of the building and Erik could not help but be awed by the sight of it. It was clear that this was no two-bit operation, and this confirmed what Erik had known from the start: not only did the people behind the Dollhouse have the intelligence and capacity to create such a place, but they also had wealth and power on a scale that Erik could barely even imagine, and he had a pretty damn good imagination. They had the wealth, the power, the brains, the technology, the _influence_ … and Erik had nothing but the gun in his hand and the strength in his body to fight them with.

Even as the realisation of what he was up against was beginning to sink into Erik’s head, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and his head jerked up, his whole body going immediately rigid with tension. Standing in the centre of the lobby as he was, he had nowhere to hide; he could only stand and wait as two sets of feet appeared from above, slowly making their way down one of the staircases.

‘Mind your step, there’s a good chap,’ one voice – a male voice – was saying encouragingly, his words presumably directed at his companion. ‘Hold on to the railings if you need to, there’s a good boy, Havok.’

Erik watched, standing stock-still, as a scrawny man with a pointed face and dark hair helped a younger blonde man walk down the stairs. Neither of them appeared to notice him; one was too focused on the act of descending the staircase and the other was too focused on helping the other down. When they did finally reach the bottom of the stairs, they both looked up and smiled. And that was when they caught sight of Erik.

‘Hello,’ the dark-haired man said, sounding slightly startled. ‘Who are you, then?’

Erik automatically opened his mouth to answer before his sense returned and he quickly shut his mouth again. The dark-haired man, who appeared to have followed his reactions, smiled, seemingly amused.

‘Oh you’re like _that_ , are you?’ he chuckled wryly, eyeing Erik with interest. ‘A follower of the Victor Creed doctrine of non-disclosure. Pity,’ he shrugged before holding out a hand. ‘I’m Sydney. Kevin Sydney. You can call me Kevin.’

Erik hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out and reluctantly taking the other man’s hand in his.

‘I’m John,’ he said haltingly, weighing the feel of the man’s hand in his own as he carefully shook it, ‘I’m new.’

Kevin’s mouth twitched at that.

‘Yes,’ he said dryly, pulling his hand away with a sniff. ‘I figured as much.’ He then jerked his head over to his companion. ‘This here’s Havok,’ he said easily. ‘He’s my Active. Say hello, Havok.’

‘Hello,’ the blonde boy said immediately.

‘There we go,’ Kevin said with a grin. ‘Looks like we’re all friends now.’ He shot Erik a sudden sideways look. ‘So what are you doing here, _John_?’

Erik met the look with a penetrating one of his own, masking his trepidation with a cool expression. Loath as he was to admit it, this man rather unnerved him.

‘Like I said,’ he answered, deliberately calm. ‘I’m new. Not sure what I’ll be doing yet. _Kevin._ ’

Sydney didn’t seem to be at all put out by the curt answer. Instead, he grinned broadly and threw Erik a considering look. ‘I like you,’ he declared, causing Erik to blink in confusion. He allowed his eyes to assess Erik for a moment longer before nodding to himself and straightening. ‘Well, I guess I had better head off,’ he said conversationally, giving Erik a lazy smile. ‘This one here needs to be tucked in,’ he jerked his head over at Havok who was gazing at the wall with a vague smile. Sydney then turned back to Erik with a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘I’ll be leaving in a minute,’ he said slowly, his eyes fixed on a point just over Erik’s shoulder. ‘My shift’s over, you see. It’ll take about five minutes to tuck Havok in, I should think.’ His eyes suddenly darted up to Erik’s and there was a shrewd intelligence in them. ‘It was nice to meet you, _John_ ,’ and again he said the name with a curious emphasis that made Erik tense his spine in apprehension. ‘I’ll see you around if you’re still here tomorrow.’

And with that Sydney caught Havok by the arm and, with one more friendly nod at Erik, began to walk out of the lobby.

Erik watched the two figures go, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

The man – Sydney, Erik corrected himself – was worrisome. He was far too shrewd for his own good, and his words – his very _presence_ – made Erik anxious. He didn’t know whether Sydney had guessed that he was an intruder or whether the man always spoke that way. Either way, Erik decided, he couldn’t allow Sydney to walk free. If he’d guessed at Erik’s identity then silencing him was necessary, and even if he hadn’t then it would still do Erik’s position no harm if he were to rid himself of one more potential enemy.

His decision made, Erik watched Sydney and his Doll walk out of the room and out of sight before slowly lowering his arm down to his side where his gun rested, his body sloping forward as he prepared to follow them.

His fingertips had just brushed the hard metal casing of the gun when he froze, his whole body stiffening abruptly as a cold and horribly familiar object was suddenly pressed up against the back of his skull.

Someone was holding a gun to his head.

His fingers instinctively stretched for his own gun, still safely in its holster, only for the gun behind him to be pushed firmly against his skull in a very pointed warning. 

‘You know,’ a low, gruff voice drawled from behind him, ‘I _really_ wouldn’t do that if I were you, bub.’


	33. Lightning

Erik froze, his every muscle locking into place and his heart hammering rabbit-fast in his chest. 

He had been caught. After all this time – after everything he had done – he had straight away gone and got caught. A cold, terrible feeling dripped its way down his spine and, Erik realised with a certain dull shock, it was the numbing coldness of despair.

‘Hands away from your sides, now,’ the stranger behind him said, and Erik reluctantly pulled his hands away from his body. Gritting his teeth, he then slowly began to raise his arms, all the while keeping his head at an angle in hopes of being able to spot his ambusher. The man, seeming to notice Erik’s pointed gaze, let out a low cluck of warning and, deliberately stepping out of arms reach, began to make his way around to Erik’s front, the gun still held out cautiously in front of him.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ the man said conversationally as he stepped into view, and Erik had to blink at the sight of the hairy, wild-looking man who seemed completely out of place within the cool elegance of the Dollhouse, ‘but it’s really not worth the risk, bub. You move your hands to that gun you have stowed there in your jacket and I shoot you. You make a move over to my gun here, and I shoot you. You pull any sudden, crazy shit that makes me even the slightest bit nervous, and – guess what – I shoot you. Get my drift?’

Erik stared at the man opposite him with barely-concealed loathing before dipping his head down in a curt nod.

‘Good,’ the hairy man growled. ‘Now then. Where’s the cavalry?’

Erik’s eyes shot up. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ he said stiffly, after a moment of mental debate. 

The hairy man looked impatient.

‘The cavalry,’ he growled again. ‘Your back-up. Your men. The goddamned SWAT team. Where the hell are they?’

Erik, deciding that his best chance would be to bluff, slowly allowed his lip to curl upwards in disdain, feigning a confidence that he didn’t actually feel. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ he sneered, looking at the man with clear loathing. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ He made himself stand straighter and forced himself not to lick his lips, which were suddenly feeling terribly dry and pinched. ‘You might want to lower that gun before they get here though,’ he added as if in afterthought, hoping that his bravado was convincing. ‘You wouldn’t want anybody getting the wrong idea.’

The man did not respond immediately. He just stood there, watching Erik closely and not saying a word. Then all of a sudden, to Erik’s utter amazement, he turned away and let out a seething, vicious curse.

‘You goddamned stupid sonofabitch,’ he growled, jerking the gun in his hand violently towards Erik’s torso, ‘You goddamned _asshole_. There _is_ no damn cavalry, is there? You came here alone, didn’t you, you _stupid_ sonofabitch!’

Erik, taken aback by the sudden, incomprehensible rant, stared at the man, completely nonplussed. Unfortunately, the hairy man seemed to take this as confirmation.

‘You stupid fuck,’ he swore again. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? It’s just _you_. I stick my goddamned neck out on the line and all I get is _you_.’

Erik suddenly found his tongue again.

‘Excuse me?’ he demanded, lowering his arms and ignoring the gun in the other man’s hands. ‘What the hell are you talking about – sticking your neck out? Who the fuck are _you_?’

The hairy man turned to him, his teeth bared and his eyes flashing angrily.

‘The name’s Logan,’ he spat, looking at Erik with open dislike. ‘James Logan Howlett, and I’m the stupid sonofabitch that helped you get inside this fucking building in the first place!’

Erik went completely still. He stared at the man opposite him, unable to speak. A thousand thoughts ran through his head – who _was_ this man? Why was he helping him? What did he _mean_ , saying that he’d helped Erik? – but above all that, there was one line of thought that all but thrummed through his mind, pushing its way to the front of his brain and making all other thoughts pale into insignificance.

‘Howlett,’ he repeated dumbly, staring at the man in disbelief. ‘You’re Howlett. _You’re Charles’s Handler._ ’

There was a pause in which neither of them moved, the both of them simply staring at each other in silence. Then, all of a sudden, the gun that Logan had been gradually lowering down was suddenly whirled back up and all but rammed in Erik’s face.

‘How did you know that?’ Logan snarled, and if Erik had thought that the man looked wild before then it was nothing compared to the untamed ferocity that all but sparked from the man’s eyes now. ‘How the hell do you know who I am? Jesus, Lehnsherr, I knew you were a stalker but this just takes the fucking cake.’

Erik’s hackles had already risen in the face of Logan’s unexpected ire. Hearing the man say his name, however, was enough to make him lose whatever little cool he had left.

‘ _Me?_ ’ he hissed in outrage, causing Logan to take a step back. ‘What about _you_? How do you know my name?’ His teeth were bared menacingly and his hands were clenched into fists, and it was clear that he was barely restraining himself from lashing out. ‘How the _hell_ do you know who I am?’

Logan, whose temper seemed to have calmed somewhat in the face of Erik’s anger, didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned by the other man’s threatening demeanour. He simply stood there, watching Erik with narrow eyes, suspicion clear in his gaze. Then, after what seemed like hours, he finally stepped back and, his eyes still fixed firmly on Erik’s, he deliberately placed his gun back in its holster.

‘I’m thinking that we might need to have a bit of a talk,’ he said gruffly, regarding Erik with an even look. ‘We seem to have got a hell of a lot of crossed wires going on all over the place and we need to sort that shit out before we do anything here, you get me?’

Erik hesitated for a moment, his anger still close to the surface, before giving a stiff nod.

Logan acknowledged the movement with a nod of his own before jerking his head over to the door on his left. 

‘Come on,’ he said, turning around and showing his back to Erik in a clear – albeit reluctant – signal of trust. ‘There ain’t all that many people about right now but we’ve been making enough noise to drown out a whole herd of elephants so it’s best that we take this someplace quieter.’

Erik, who had been worried about the same thing, nodded brusquely and followed Logan as he moved towards the end of the lobby and then through the door into one of the side-rooms.

‘This here’s one of the meditation rooms,’ Logan explained as he shut the door behind them. ‘So that the Dolls can have a little quiet time, see? Me, I reckon they just fall asleep once they’re in here, but then what do I know?’ He shrugged before turning to face Erik once more and this time his expression was quietly serious. ‘So,’ he said after a moment where the two of them had just stood there, staring at each other. ‘Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? How’d you know who I am and where the hell is your goddamn back-up?’

Erik suppressed a wince at the last question, covering it up with a pointed glare. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he really ought to open up to a complete stranger – an employee of the Dollhouse, to be precise, and _Charles’s Handler_ at that – but after a moment he relented, his shoulders relaxing minutely as he came to his decision. Reluctant as he was to explain himself, something deep and inexplicable inside told him that the man in front of him wasn’t all that he seemed; that he was – some way, somehow – trustworthy, and it was this feeling that finally motivated him to open his mouth and begin to talk.

‘Guy in the elevator,’ he said stiffly, not moving his eyes away from Logan’s. ‘He let me in – thought I worked here, like him. He wouldn’t stop talking the whole way – he’s the one that told me that you were Charles’s Handler.’ Erik shrugged. ‘That’s about it. That’s how I know who you are.’

‘Hmm,’ Logan was watching him closely. ‘And I suppose that I just _happened_ to pop up in conversation, just like that?’

Erik gritted his teeth. ‘I told him that I was Charles’s Handler,’ he muttered through tightly-clenched teeth. At Logan’s pointed look he attempted to elaborate. ‘Charles-’ he hesitated, not knowing how he was supposed to explain just who Charles was to him. ‘Charles is one of the people that I’m looking for,’ he finished quickly, lifting his chin in something close to defiance.

Logan let out a snort at that. ‘Is he now?’ he said dryly. ‘You’ve been _looking_ for him, have you? Is that officially or unofficially?’ He raised a mocking eyebrow, ignoring the murderous look that Erik sent his way. ‘I’m guessing that this also explains why you didn’t bring any back-up, huh?’ 

‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ Erik snapped, glaring at Logan almost resentfully despite knowing that the man’s words had hit a little too close to home. ‘Why the hell are _you_ here, anyway? And what did you mean back there, about sticking your neck out? About helping me? Because – just so you know – you haven’t been all that helpful so far.’

Logan paused mid-smirk and turned to stare at Erik. A slightly puzzled expression crossed his face.

‘I’d have thought you were smarter than this,’ he said at last, sounding slightly doubtful. He cocked his head and eyed Erik again, looking faintly worried. ‘What do you mean, I haven’t been helpful? Why else are you here, bub? You got my letter, didn’t you?’

It was Erik’s turn to stare.

‘ _Your_ letter?’ he repeated, his mouth twisted in disbelief. ‘You mean it wasn’t _Ra_ -’ He cut himself off quickly, slamming his mouth shut, but Logan had unfortunately already picked up on his error.

‘It wasn’t _who_?’ he demanded, leaning forward interestedly. ‘Who were you going to say? Is there someone else? Have you been talking to someone else inside the House?’

Erik shook his head, determinedly deflecting his questions.

‘No,’ he said firmly, crossing his arms together. ‘There’s no one. No one who would help us, at any rate. I’m presuming that there is an “us”?’ he added, glancing up at Logan and raising an eyebrow. ‘If you saw fit to send me that letter, I mean. You can’t have just planned to sit back and do nothing.’

‘I _didn’t_ plan to sit back and do nothing,’ Logan growled. ‘But that was before you swanned in here without back-up like some sort of goddamn G.I. fucking Joe.’ He shook his head and scowled. ‘I mean – are you completely insane? Do you have _any_ idea what you are up against here? What were you thinking, that you’d just bust your way in here and then take the whole bastard corporation down single-handed? Are you out of your fucking mind?’

Erik scowled.

‘Fuck you,’ he said coldly. ‘I’m not planning on taking down the entire place in one night. I’m planning on taking down one _man_ – and, from what I can tell, that’s a pretty damn good place to start.’

‘Shaw,’ Logan muttered, eyeing Erik contemplatively. ‘Sebastian fucking Shaw.’ He sighed then and shook his head. ‘Well, I did what I could about security tonight but do you really think that the two of us can get past his entire fucking entourage all by ourselves?’

A slow smile began to pull at the corner of Erik’s lips.

‘So you _are_ in, then?’ he said smugly, arms still folded firmly together. ‘Good to know.’

Logan snorted and rolled his eyes.

‘Yeah, I’m in,’ he muttered, huffing out a dry laugh under his breath. ‘God knows why I am – probably got some sort of fucking death wish or something – but yeah. Count me in.’

Erik nodded, carefully suppressing any outward reactions of relief.

‘Good,’ he said shortly. ‘So now we need to plan.’

‘Yup, that sounds like a thing we ought to do,’ Logan drawled, leaning back against the wall and stretching lazily. Having cemented his alliance with Erik, he now seemed a lot more laid-back than before. ‘Plan away, Super-cop.’

Erik gave him a flat look and then promptly proceeded to ignore him.

‘Our priority is Shaw,’ he began, his brow furrowed in thought. Logan was leaning against one of the walls in an attitude of supreme unconcern but his ears were sharp and his eyes were focused. ‘And we know that he should be here in about,’ he glanced down at his watch, ‘four and a half hours.’

‘That is the time we were given,’ Logan acknowledged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thick cigar. Erik’s nostrils flared at the sight of it but Logan seemed to be deliberately avoiding his eyes as he lit the cigar and brought it to his mouth, inhaling a lungful of smoke with a contented growl. ‘Ah, that’s the stuff.’

‘Should you really be smoking here?’ Erik asked sharply, disapproval radiating from his every pore.

Logan shrugged.

‘Probably not,’ he said agreeably, ‘But who’s gonna tell? _You?_ ’ he snorted and took a long drag of smoke. ‘Nah, Frost’ll get over it – she always does. Besides, if I’m gonna get fired or brain-fried or whatever then I may as well go out in style. It’s not like it’ll hurt any worse. In for a penny and all that shit, am I right?’

Erik raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Brain-fried?’ he asked lightly.

‘Oh yeah, they do that here,’ Logan said, gesturing with his cigar. ‘They do a _lot_ of shit here. We’re really a couple of morons for even thinking about going up against them.’

‘And yet here we are,’ Erik murmured. He shot Logan a sudden look. ‘Who’s Frost?’

Logan let out a rough chuckle at that.

‘Ain’t that the question,’ he muttered. ‘Frost is the Director,’ he said in a louder voice, waving his cigar expansively, ‘Of the Dollhouse, I mean. Second in command from Shaw … don’t let her hear you say that, though. Lady ain’t made to be _anyone’s_ second in command.’

‘She doesn’t get on with Shaw?’ Erik asked interestedly.

‘She doesn’t get on with _anybody_ ,’ Logan corrected him. ‘Was never able to get a good read on her. Got a lot going on up here, she does,’ he gestured at his head. ‘Strange lady. Cold. Likes things just so, and god help the poor bastard who crosses her. My guess is,’ he looked out at Erik from under his thick eyebrows, ‘She’ll do whatever is in her best interests.’

‘She’ll look out for herself,’ Erik nodded in understanding. ‘She sounds like somebody who would best be avoided, I think.’

‘Which ought to be rule for life,’ Logan agreed. ‘So what next, boss-man?’

Erik thought for a moment, deliberately ignoring the sarcastic moniker.

‘The Dolls,’ he said at last. ‘We need to help the Dolls. We need to find them and free them.’

He looked up to see Logan staring straight back at him. 

‘I was wondering when you’d start on that,’ the other man murmured, and Erik found himself feeling slightly defensive, even though he didn’t know why. ‘When you’d bring the conversation round to it. Surprised it took you so long, to be honest.’

Erik frowned. ‘So long to what?’ he barked, feeling nettled.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

‘To bring the conversation round to freeing Charles, of course,’ he said simply, and Erik had to suppress the physical shudder that threatened to overwhelm him at the matter-of-fact tone in which he said it. ‘No need to lie to me, Lehnsherr. I know that he’s been on your mind all the way through this.’

Erik couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

‘Frost warned me about you, you know,’ Logan continued conversationally. ‘Said you were some kind of stalker on the look-out for Charles. That you were pretty much obsessed with him. And you know what?’ His eyes met Erik’s. ‘I kind of believe her.’

Still Erik said nothing. 

‘Thing is,’ Logan continued, his expression thoughtful, ‘You’re a cop. Maybe the only one who’s actually looking into the Dollhouse. Which, it turns out, made you the only person in the world that I could call.’ He sighed and rubbed at his face. ‘Besides,’ he added after a moment, his voice gruff, ‘It’s not like you can be blamed for your crazy-ass thing for Charles. God knows that he seems to have that effect on everyone.’

‘Even you?’ Erik asked quietly. 

Logan’s head shot up.

‘Now you listen here,’ he said sharply, ‘I don’t know what kind of screwed-up shit is going on in your head but if you’re thinking that I _ever_ -’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Erik interrupted him, and his placid expression seemed to have something of a soothing effect on Logan as the ire quickly drained out of him. ‘I just want to know …’ There was a pause wherein Erik visibly hesitated. He swallowed once before continuing. ‘Charles,’ he rasped out, ‘is he … okay?’

Logan watched him for a moment, his face completely blank. Then he nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘He’s safe.’ He paused. ‘… For now.’

Erik’s face darkened.

‘Shaw,’ he said grimly, causing Logan’s eyebrows to rise.

‘You know about that, huh?’ Logan’s voice was cool. ‘Can I ask how?’

‘You can ask,’ Erik said flatly, but didn’t continue. It was quite clear that he had no real intention of answering. 

Logan rolled his eyes.

‘Keep your secrets,’ he said, shrugging easily. ‘As long as they don’t get me killed or get my brain fried, then I couldn’t give a horse’s a-’

And that was when the door opened.


	34. Storm - Part One

There wasn’t any time to react. 

One minute the door was closed and the next – 

‘Howlett?’ 

Logan, who had gone as still as a statue when the door had opened, felt his shoulders abruptly slump in relief. Throwing Erik a sharp glare in warning to keep his mouth shut, he then turned to the new arrival who was standing with one hand on the door, looking at them curiously.

‘Hey there, Doc,’ he said gruffly, giving Dr. McTaggart a short nod even as he casually leaned back against the wall of the room. ‘You lookin’ for something?’

Moira, who had been frowning pensively at the silent figure cut by Erik, turned to Logan with a wan smile. ‘Yes,’ she said, running a hand through her hair and letting out a tired sigh, ‘I’m looking for Jackson. He was supposed to have been in my office almost twenty minutes ago now, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere.’

Logan’s eyes flickered over to Erik, whose stoic exterior was marred only by the quick, urgent glance that he sent in Logan’s direction.

_Typical,_ Logan could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes. In a show of remarkable restraint, he manfully refrained from calling Lehnsherr a dumb fucking asshole in front of their audience and instead merely sighed and turned back to Moira. 

‘Sorry, Doc,’ he said with a careless shrug. ‘Can’t help you. Haven’t seen him.’

‘Right,’ Moira said, letting out a sigh of exasperation. Her eyes drifted down Logan’s arm. ‘You _really_ shouldn’t smoke those, you know,’ she said, indicating Logan’s cigar. While her tone was admonishing, there was nevertheless a spark of amusement in her eyes. ‘For your sake _and_ everyone else’s. Plus you and I both know that Frost will have a fit if she ever finds out.’

‘Like you said,’ Logan said easily, lifting his cigar to his lips and taking a deliberately long drag, ‘ _If_ she finds out.’

Moira’s lips twitched at that but she quickly schooled her expression into one of mild disapproval. ‘On your head be it,’ she said, with a shake of her head. She then turned so that she was facing Erik. ‘So – who’s _this_ then?’

Logan once again flicked his eyes over to Erik and caught his eye. ‘This here’s John,’ he said coolly. ‘He works here.’

Moira frowned.

‘I haven’t seen him around before,’ she said, studying Erik closely in a way that Logan could see made him very twitchy. ‘I’m sure I haven’t – I don’t think that I would have forgotten him if I had …’

‘He’s new,’ Logan said immediately, taking a pull on his cigar and managing to look supremely unconcerned despite the way that his heart was beating in his chest. ‘Only just started. I’m showing him the ropes.’

Moira raised an eyebrow at that. 

‘You?’ she scoffed. ‘Show him the ropes?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I find it _very_ hard to believe that you did that voluntarily.’

Logan gave her a look. ‘Who said it was voluntary?’ he grunted, causing Moira to smirk.

‘Yes, I didn’t think so,’ she said, sounding rather smug. Her gaze wandered past Logan then, and came to settle once more on Erik. And again the puzzled expression returned to her face.

‘He’s new, you said?’ she asked, an odd tone to her voice.

‘Yeah,’ Logan said, lowering his cigar and watching Moira narrowly. ‘That’s what I said. And?’

‘It’s just-’ Moira hesitated. ‘I’m usually informed of new recruits. I didn’t know that we’d taken anyone on recently.’ She paused again, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinised Erik. ‘His suit … he’s wearing a suit. But – Logan – we haven’t taken on any new Handlers in _months_ -’

That was as far as she got as – before Logan could even open his mouth – Erik had strode forward and, before Moira had even registered what was happening, had drawn out his gun in one slick move and now had it pointed straight at Moira’s head.

‘Don’t move,’ Erik said calmly, watching as Moira’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Dr. MacTaggart is it?’

Moira jerked her head down in a nod, the fear in her eyes slowly being replaced with anger.

‘Sorry about your appointment,’ Erik continued smoothly, gesturing for Moira to walk further along into the room. ‘I’m rather afraid that was my doing. He won’t be making that meeting today, I don’t think. But then again, neither will you.’

‘Are you going to kill me?’ Moira asked, and despite the tremble in her voice her expression was fierce and unflinching.

Erik didn’t answer immediately but by then Logan had seen enough.

‘God fucking damn it, Lehnsherr!’ he snarled, striding forward and shoving Erik’s gun away from where it had been pointing at Moira. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Erik turned to him with a look of vague surprise.

‘What am _I_ doing?’ he repeated, his eyebrows drawing together in the beginnings of a fearsome scowl, ‘I’m trying to keep the both of us alive. What are _you_ doing?’

Moira was watching the both of them with wide eyes.

‘Howlett?’ she whispered, interrupting them and causing both men to turn to her. ‘Logan? Is this – Are you _with_ this man?’

Logan grimaced. He threw Erik a thoroughly filthy look before turning back to Moira.

‘Listen, Doc,’ he began, his rough voice gentling into something softer. ‘It’s not what it looks like. I know that this looks bad, but-’

‘Are you with him?’

Logan hesitated. Then:

‘Yes,’ he said, drawing himself up taller. ‘Yes, I am.’

Moira swore then, something completely vile and filthy, before turning to Logan with seething fury in her eyes.

‘Fuck you,’ she hissed. ‘Fuck you, Howlett. What is it that you’re after? Money? Tech?’ she shook her head, her lip turning up into a sneer. ‘Well. Fuck. You. How can you do this to us?’ She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. ‘How can you do this to _Charles_?’

Logan’s control snapped.

‘God _dammit_ , Moira,’ he snarled, striding forward until he was all but pressed up against her front. ‘I’m fucking doing this _for_ Charles!’

There was silence.

‘Explain,’ Moira snapped, sounding more like an Army General than a doctor.

Logan glanced wearily over at Erik. The other man was glaring at him and, although he would not count himself as a mind-reader, Logan was almost one-hundred percent certain that Erik’s brain was loudly broadcasting something along the lines of _Don’t you fucking dare_.

Logan, however, had never been one to back away from a challenge.

‘You asked me what it is that we want,’ he said, turning to face Moira and ignoring the furious hissing noises coming from the man next to him. ‘Well, I’ll tell you what we want. We want Shaw.’ 

It was as simple as that.

Moira stared at them.

‘Shaw,’ she repeated dumbly after a moment, the disbelief clear in her voice. ‘You want Sebastian Shaw.’

‘It’s what I said, isn’t it?’ Logan grumbled, mournfully regarding the now burnt-out cigar-end in his hand.

‘You want Shaw,’ Moira said again, her voice flat. ‘You are going after Sebastian fucking Shaw.’

‘Lehnsherr here’s a police officer,’ Logan said idly, jerking his head towards Erik and tossing the cigar-end over his shoulder. ‘He’s on a crusade to bring Shaw down. I just thought I’d go along for the ride.’

Moira’s eyes were now trained on Erik, her gaze sharp and penetrating.

‘You’re police?’ she demanded. Erik nodded once and she mirrored the action, looking thoughtful. ‘I see. Back-up?’

Logan snorted at that. Erik threw him a dirty look before answering.

‘No,’ he said, scowling at the wall. ‘No back-up. Not yet.’

Moira was staring at them again. After a moment she shook her head.

‘You’re crazy. Both of you. Completely and utterly insane.’

‘That a professional opinion there, Doc?’ Logan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Moira looked up then, a strange, sharp smile on her face.

‘Not that kind of doctor,’ she answered, before straightening up. She cocked her head, looking at Logan. ‘I suppose this decision of yours has nothing to do with Charles and the fact that Shaw’s got him booked up for an entire week, huh?’

Logan didn’t respond but the dark look on his face seemed to be enough to answer Moira’s question.

‘Right,’ she said slowly. Her eyes flicked between both Erik and Logan. ‘So basically you intend to bring down the Dollhouse, stop Shaw and free the Actives all on your own, without any sort of back-up, and with no sort of conceivable plan whatsoever?’

Erik and Logan shared a look.

‘Yes,’ Erik said after a moment.

‘Yeah,’ Logan agreed, scratching his beard with his left hand. ‘You got a point to make there, Doc?’

Moira stared at them. They stared back. Then:

‘Oh screw it,’ she said, letting out a sigh and shaking her head before tossing her hair over her shoulder. ‘Count me in. Where do I sign up?’

Both Logan and Erik stared at her.

‘Come again?’ Logan asked at the same time as Erik demanded ‘What?’

Moira raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.

‘You heard me,’ she said, meeting their eyes and not backing down. ‘Count me in. It’s not as if you don’t need the manpower.’

‘Well, yeah …’ Logan began but was interrupted by an irate Erik.

‘No,’ Erik said flatly. ‘No way. We’re not bringing her along for this. I won’t allow it.’

Both Logan and Moira turned as one, looking at Erik incredulously.

‘Excuse me?’ Moira demanded. ‘Who put _you_ in charge?’

‘That’s a good question,’ Logan agreed, bringing his thick, muscular arms back across his chest. ‘I know that I sure didn’t.’

Erik’s jaw tightened and he glared at Logan.

‘We’re not involving her,’ he said tightly, giving Moira look of thinly-veiled suspicion. ‘It’s too much of a risk, she could ruin _everything_. How do you know she won’t betray us the first chance she gets?’

Logan was silent for a moment. He knew that Erik’s suspicions were logical, but he nevertheless felt that they weren’t right. He studied Moira for a minute, taking in her fierce expression and the resolve in her eyes and he came to a decision.

‘I don’t,’ he said, turning to face Erik. ‘But I guess it’s a risk that I’m willing to take. Saddle up, Doc,’ he said, glancing over at Moira, who was now looking rather smug, ‘Looks like you’re in.’

‘Fantastic,’ Erik muttered under his breath, looking thoroughly displeased with the way that things were turning out. Logan grinned and, reaching out, clapped Erik firmly on the back.

‘That’s the spirit, bub,’ he said, before turning towards the door. ‘Shall we, ladies?’

He was met by a scowl from Erik and a roll of the eyes from Moira, but all that did was make Logan’s grin grow even wider. This momentary glee faded the moment that they all started forward.

‘We should head for the Rec Room,’ Moira suggested as they approached the door. ‘Check how many people are about.’

But Logan shook his head.

‘I already checked,’ he said in a low voice as he pulled open the door and surreptitiously glanced about. ‘There wasn’t anyone there. Most people either have the day off or have gone home, and the rest I already dealt with.’

Moira raised an eyebrow at that.

‘Just how did you do that exactly?’ she asked, although her tone suggested that she already knew.

Logan shrugged. ‘I sent some home,’ he said easily. ‘And the ones I couldn’t get to leave, I knocked on the head. Satisfied?’

Moira’s expression showed that she was anything but, but she was pragmatic enough to know that Logan had only done what was necessary.

‘We should probably head for the Dolls, then,’ Erik said casually, interrupting the two of them.

Logan turned his head and looked at him but Erik was determinedly avoiding all eye-contact.

‘You know that we won’t be able to free them just like that, right?’ Moira said as they made their way across the hall, trying to act as normal as possible. ‘Not as they are. Right now they are in a blank, vulnerable state; they won’t be back to normal until they are reprogrammed and their memories are returned to them. You get that, right?’

‘Yes,’ Erik said shortly. He still didn’t seem all that pleased to have Moira along for the ride. ‘I understand. Which is why we’ll work on getting him reprogrammed right after we’ve found him.’

Moira came to a sudden halt.

‘Him?’ she repeated, her voice suddenly filled with suspicion. ‘What do you mean, _him_?’

Logan let out a snort.

‘Oh right,’ he said, a smirk on his face, ‘I forgot to mention. Lehnsherr here is another one of the Charles Appreciation Society.’ He raised an eyebrow at Moira. ‘You and he should get right along then, don’t you think, Doc?’

Both Erik and Moira shot each other startled looks that slowly morphed into a general sort of wariness. They met each others eyes grimly before quickly looking away. Neither of them said a word but both of them looked rather tight around the mouth.

‘So,’ Logan said after a moment of awkward silence. ‘We’re heading to the Pods, then?’

‘Pods?’ Erik questioned before Moira could open her mouth.

Logan turned and met his eyes for a moment before continuing on his way. A minute later and they were in front of a thick set of doors, at which Logan paused. He turned back to Erik again before slowly pushing them open.

‘These,’ he said, as he led the way through the doors, the ceiling light automatically flickering on as they entered, ‘are the Pods.’

He watched as Erik glanced around the room, his look of momentary confusion quickly morphing into understanding as he realised what he was seeing.

The room was largely empty, with no furniture or installations of any kind. It would’ve appeared to be completely bare if it weren’t for the seven glass slats on the floor arranged in the shape of a circle – or at least, it appeared to be thus until one realised that the floor wasn’t merely a floor. The opaque glass slats were, in fact, covers for seven pits – or, rather, enclosures – in the ground, and each of these berths was the resting place of a single Active Doll.

‘This is just one of the Resting Rooms,’ Logan said quietly, taking care not to step on any of the glass coverings. ‘There are others hereabouts as well. This just – well. This is just the one that has Charles in it. You can see why they’re called the Pods,’ he added unnecessarily, gesturing at the floor around him.

‘You keep them in the floor?’ Erik’s voice was low but full of barely-stifled anger.

Logan shrugged. ‘It’s just like a bed,’ he said, sounding infuriatingly unconcerned.

‘It’s just like a _coffin_ ,’ Erik retorted, looking down at the floor unhappily.

‘They’re not so bad,’ Moira said bracingly. ‘It’s a bit more advanced than a hole in the ground, you know. There are temperature regulators, air-flow systems, body function monitors – and they’re actually really very comfortable.’

‘Tried one, have you Doc?’ Logan teased.

‘Yes, actually,’ Moira responded tartly. ‘And I’ll bet that you have too.’

Logan opened his mouth to form his own retort but his mouth snapped shut when he saw Erik move forward to go and crouch by one of the pods. 

‘Hey!’ he said sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. ‘Move it, Lehnsherr, that’s not Charles’s pod.’

‘I’m just looking,’ Erik muttered, examining the surface of the pod carefully. He reached out and ran a hand down the glass surface.

‘Careful, Lehnsherr,’ Moira warned. ‘You’ll wake Gypsy if you’re not careful.’

‘Gypsy,’ Erik repeated slowly, his hands still on the surface of the glass. He didn’t pull away. ‘I just want to-’

His fingers grazed over a small metal button on the floor next to the glass. Almost instinctively he pressed down on it.

‘Shit,’ Logan swore before surging forward to drag Erik away from the pod as the glass cover began to slowly slide down. ‘Lehnsherr, you ass, what the heck do you think you’re doing?’

But Erik didn’t answer. He was staring at the face that was slowly being revealed by the retreating glass cover.

‘ _Magda?_ ’ he breathed, staring in disbelief.

Logan’s eyes immediately snapped to his.

‘You know her, bub?’ he demanded, eyes fixed on Erik’s pallid face.

Erik didn’t seem able to answer at first. After a moment, however, he swallowed and nodded.

‘Yeah,’ he rasped out, unable to tear his eyes away from the sleeping woman’s face. ‘She – she was the first one. The first one to lead me to the Dollhouse.’ He swallowed again. ‘I knew her, once.’

Logan and Moira exchanged a glance but neither said a word.

‘We have to get her out of here,’ Erik said abruptly, sitting back on his heels as he peered down into the enclosure. ‘We need to wake her up and-’ He immediately halted as the woman’s eyelashes began to flutter and he turned to the others with wide eyes. ‘She’s waking up!’

Moira was at his side in a flash, pushing him away and leaning down over the enclosure. Erik snarled and tried to push his way in again but was restrained by Logan’s hand clasped firmly around his shoulder.

‘Don’t make a fuss,’ he said quietly, not letting go of Erik. ‘She’s doing that for a reason. Gypsy won’t recognise you, you know, and seeing your ugly mug first thing on waking? Wouldn’t be good for her – be distressin’ and shit like that. Best let her see MacTaggart first – someone she knows, see?’

Erik’s jaw had tightened but he nevertheless nodded in reluctant understanding.

Moira threw Erik a dirty look over her shoulder before turning back to the Active in front of her – and not a moment too soon for, a second later, the woman in the enclosure let out a small sigh and opened her eyes.

‘Hello Gypsy,’ Moira said softly, her smile warm and welcoming, a complete contrast to the glare she had just sent Erik’s way.

‘Hello,’ Gypsy’s returning smile was equally placid. She slowly began to sit up, blinking her large, wide eyes sleepily. Even when fully upright, her chin only just reached foot level. ‘Is it time to wake up?’ she asked pleasantly.

Moira cast a wary glance over at Logan and Erik, hesitating, before turning back to the Active.

‘No,’ she said softly, and behind her Logan had to tighten his grasp on Erik’s forearm in order to stop him from interfering. ‘It’s not. Go back to bed, Gypsy.’

Gypsy smiled. 

‘Okay,’ she said docilely and immediately lowered herself back down to her bed.

Logan watched grimly as Erik struggled to move forward and deliberately squeezed Erik’s shoulder when it looked like the other man was going to open his mouth in angry protest. He waited until Gypsy was fully reclined in her sleeping compartment and Moira had pressed the button that caused the screen to close before removing his hand from Erik’s shoulder. The moment he did, Erik surged forward but it was too late – the screen had closed completely and Gypsy was once again hidden from sight.

‘Why did you do that?’ Erik snarled, whirling around to glare at both Logan and Moira. ‘Magda was _there_ , I could have _spoken_ to her-’

‘What would be the point?’ Logan interrupted him, his tone blunt. ‘S’not like she have recognised you.’

‘You must remember,’ Moira’s tone was placating, her voice gentle, ‘She is not your Magda right now – she is Gypsy. She is a completely different person.’

‘You mean _non_ -person,’ Logan muttered under his breath. 

Erik gave a brittle nod, his eyes still fixed on the opaque glass covering that hid Magda away from him. 

‘I remember just fine,’ he said grimly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his jaw set. ‘Which is why we need to get them _all_ reprogrammed as soon as possible.’ His eyes were flint-hard. ‘ _All_ of them.’

‘Starting with Charles, naturally,’ Logan drawled, eyeing Erik with a smirk.

Erik turned to face him, his eyes narrowed.

‘Starting with Charles,’ he repeated coldly, his eyes boring into Logan’s. ‘Or would you rather that Sebastian Shaw got his hands on him?’

Logan’s face immediately slid into a scowl.

‘You know what I think of that sonofabitch,’ he growled, standing up straight and sending Erik a dirty look. He turned and jerked his head over to one of the Pods further on in the room. ‘Guess we better go and wake Charles up then, huh?’

The others merely nodded and followed him silently over to the other side of the room. Logan came to a stop in front of a Pod the furthest way away from the door and just stood there for a moment, gazing down at the opaque glass screen, an odd look on his face.

‘Not getting cold feet, are you?’ Erik growled, causing Logan to blink out of his stupor. He gave Erik an angry scowl.

‘No,’ he said, turning away from him and glancing back down at the cold glass cover. An odd emotion was stirring in his breast and he couldn’t quite make out whether it was anticipation or fear. ‘Not cold feet. Not anything that _you_ would understand, Lehnsherr.’

Erik looked ready to make a scathing retort but a fierce look from Moira caused him to change his mind. Logan was relieved. He wasn’t much in the mood for any macho bullshit right now.

‘This will just take a minute,’ he said instead, his voice low as he sank down to the side of the Pod. ‘Don’t crowd around the edge there – you don’t wanna overwhelm him. You least of all, Lenhsherr, he doesn’t even know you …’

He hadn’t intended it as a dig, but the scowl on Erik’s face seemed to indicate that it had been taken as such. 

‘Just get on with it,’ Erik growled, tapping his foot impatiently.

Logan ignored him. He glanced down at the glass screen and took a deep breath. This was it, he thought. This was the very last time that he would be able to wake Charles up like this.

He hated that the thought was not a happy one.

Gritting his teeth, he reached out and pressed the small, silver button at the side of the enclosure.

There was a small hiss and then the glass screen began to slowly slide back.

In the background he heard Moira quietly explain something about the release and retraction of sedatives whenever the Pod screen opened and shut but somehow he got the feeling that Lehnsherr wasn’t all that focused on the lecture.

He sure as hell wasn’t.

He watched, barely breathing, as the glass screen pulled back, revealing first a pale forehead, then a closed pair of eyelids, then a nose, a mouth, a chin –

_Like fucking Snow White,_ Logan thought for the hundredth time, the same thought that he got every single time he came to wake Charles up. _Like fucking Snow White in her fucking coffin and we’re the fucking dwarves._

Not that he’d ever, _ever_ dare to assume that he might be Prince Charming. And Lehnsherr sure as hell wasn’t filling _that_ position either.

As he watched, Charles’s eyelids quivered. There was a brief moment where his eyelashes fluttered and then suddenly his eyes opened and all Logan could see was clear, solid blue.

He didn’t speak for a moment. He just looked.

His Active stared back.

‘Hello,’ Charles said. ‘Is it time to wake up?’

Silently cursing himself for missing his cue, Logan quickly tried to recover. 

‘Hello Charles,’ he said, plastering on a pleasant smile even though something beneath his ribs _hurt_. ‘Yes. It is time to wake up.’

Charles smiled at that and slowly began to sit up.

Logan would have been deaf not to have heard the stifled gasp that left Erik’s lips at Charles’s emergence from the Pod but he determinedly ignored it and instead focused his gaze on Charles’s still-sleepy form. 

‘Are you rested?’ he asked gently, following the pre-set script. Handlers weren’t usually in charge of the everyday actions of the Actives – they had House Trainers for that – but Logan was one of the few who preferred to have a more hands-on approach in their Actives’ lives and so he had made sure that he was aware of each and every one of his Active’s routines.

Charles took a moment before answering.

‘I am well,’ he said at last, and Logan hid a grimace. Due to the nature of their work at the Dollhouse, the Actives had no set bedtime, but were scheduled for ‘rests’ that worked around their engagements. Charles, who had been up for most of the previous night, getting last minute checks and tests done before Shaw arrived, could not have been asleep for more than a few hours. It would be enough for him to function on, certainly, but Logan was never very happy about waking his Active up before he got his full recommended seven point five hours.

_Well,_ he thought dryly to himself, _this is the last time that you will have to worry about **that**._

‘Come on, then,’ Logan said gruffly, getting to his feet and looking down at Charles, who gazed up at him from his Pod with wide blue eyes. ‘It’s time to start the day, Chuck.’

He heard Moira make a small, unimpressed noise behind him and knew that she wasn’t particularly pleased about him breaking from script, but he really couldn’t care less at that moment. 

He watched as Charles slowly got to his feet, straightening until he was fully upright. Charles blinked once before walking down to the foot of the Pod and then climbing out of it. Once out, he looked up and smiled.

‘Hello Moira,’ he said.

‘Hello Charles,’ Moira’s voice was as soft and gentle as it always was when she was with him.

Logan watched as Charles’s gaze then moved on to Erik. Erik, who was standing stock-still, watching Charles with something akin to triumphant disbelief on his face.

‘Hello,’ Charles said to him.

Erik said nothing.

‘My name is Charles.’

Erik still said nothing.

Logan snorted but there was something weary in his eyes as he glanced between the two of them. ‘Say hello, Lehnsherr,’ he growled when the silence had continued a bit too long comfort. ‘It’s polite, see?’

Erik looked like he very much wanted to make a very rude gesture in Logan’s direction but Charles’s presence prevented him from doing so. Instead, he straightened up, and, lifting his chin so that his eyes were meeting Charles’s, he finally opened his mouth.

‘Hello, Charles,’ he said, his eyes fierce and unblinking in their intensity. ‘I – I’m Erik.’ If his voice roughened slightly at the end of that sentence then no one mentioned it. 

Charles smiled.

‘Hello, Erik,’ he said easily, before turning his head to look around him, completely oblivious to the oddly wretched look on Erik’s face.

Logan, feeling slightly uncomfortable, let out a cough and shook his head.

‘Right then,’ he growled, breaking the tension, ‘Now that everyone knows who everyone else is, what say we get out of here and – you know – actually do what we came here to do instead of standing around looking pretty?’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Moira snorted but she nodded anyway.

Erik, who seemed to be having a hard time taking his eyes off Charles, eventually also nodded. He still seemed slightly dazed but the moment Logan’s words penetrated his brain, he immediately straightened up, his eyes once more narrowed and watchful for all that they strayed towards Charles every few seconds.

‘Yes,’ he said, watching quietly as Charles blinked pleasantly at the room around him. ‘Let’s go.’

Logan nodded at that and, with a quick glance at Moira, turned and began to lead the way out of the room. Moira followed next, leading Charles by the hand, leaving Erik to bring up the rear.

The walk from the Resting Rooms to the staircase leading up to the Programming centre usually took no more than a few minutes but now the walk seemed to treble in length. The fact that there was no one about was simultaneously reassuring and troubling for all that he had arranged it, and Logan began to feel the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stir as the four of them crept along the halls, trying to make as little noise as possible.

It would all be over soon. All they had to do was take Charles up to McCoy – who would, no doubt, be tinkering away at something or the other in his office at this time of day – and get him reprogrammed. And then … 

Well. They would deal with that when it happened.

They reached the foot of the staircase and then, as if in agreement, they all came to a pause.

‘Listen up,’ Logan said, turning to the others with a grim look on his face, ‘This is what we’ll do. I’ll head on up there with Charles and start talking to McCoy, feeling him out and shit. Doc, you wait for a few minutes before coming in, so we can try and talk McCoy into helping us out. _You_ ,’ here Logan turned and glared at Erik, ‘ _you_ stay the fuck out until we call for you. McCoy spooks easy, and seeing your ugly mug isn’t going to help him any. Besides,’ he smirked over at Moira, ‘I doubt we’ll have any trouble handling ol’ four eyes if he causes any trouble, am I right, Doc?’

Neither Erik nor Moira looked very impressed.

‘How you got poor Hank to like you I have no idea,’ Moira muttered but then sighed and nodded. ‘And fine, that’s what we’ll do.’ She turned to Erik and raised an eyebrow. ‘Lehnsherr?’

Lehnsherr scowled, obviously not happy about being left out of things, but he reluctantly nodded in agreement. 

‘Fine,’ he snapped, glaring at Logan, ‘But the _moment_ things go wrong-’

‘Relax,’ Logan rolled his eyes and waved him off. ‘Nothing’s gonna-’

Just at that moment there was a muffled shout from the above them, and Erik, Moira and Logan all froze, looking at each other with wide eyes. Unlike the others, Charles didn’t seem to be very concerned about the noise, only mildly interested in where it had originated from.

‘What the hell was that?’ Erik muttered through gritted teeth, his muscles tensing and his eyes darting around in search of any potential threat.

‘Dunno,’ Logan muttered back, looking equally on edge. ‘But we’d better start prayin’ that nobody else heard it.’

‘It sounded like it came from the Programming Room,’ Moira whispered, her face white and her hand clenched tightly around Charles’s. ‘Howlett, it sounded like …’ Her eyes met Logan’s.

‘Hank,’ they both said together, and suddenly they were running, flying up the stairs, with Erik cursing and ushering Charles on behind them.

They came to a stop in front of the door to Hank’s office, the doorway to the Programmer’s innermost sanctum, and they all shared a look.

‘Maybe he just stubbed his toe or something,’ Moira whispered uneasily, looking between Logan and Erik’s faces.

‘Maybe,’ Logan said grimly. ‘But then when have you ever known us to be that lucky?’ Without waiting for Moira to answer, he turned to Erik. ‘You ready, bub?’

Erik reached into his holster and pulled out his gun.

‘Ready,’ he said, moving forward so that he and Logan were flanking either side of the door.

Logan glanced back at Moira who was once again clutching Charles’s hand, an anxious look on her face.

‘You stay here and look after Charlie,’ he said quietly, glancing over to where his Active was standing and quietly taking in the goings-on in front of him. ‘If there’s trouble then you need to get him the hell out of here, you got me?’

Moira licked her lips before dipping her head down in a firm nod.

‘Yes,’ she said simply, and Logan allowed himself to feel minutely reassured.

‘Great,’ he said, and turned back to the door, his own gun now in his hands. He shared a look with Lehnsherr. ‘Let’s hope that McCoy here’s just a clumsy sonofabitch, eh?’

Erik gave him a grim smile and nodded.

‘Let’s do this,’ he said.

They shared a look and then, as one, turned and kicked the door in.

Pushing forward, they stepped through the door, their guns raised high and held out in front of them.

And then paused.

Logan frowned.

Whatever he had expected upon stepping through the door into McCoys’s office, it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Sitting facing the door in a swivel-backed, ergonomic chair with a look of complete terror upon his face was Doctor Henry McCoy, his knuckles white and tense as his hands clutched the armrests in a fierce death-grip.

Standing just behind him with a cheerful, almost benign expression belied by the merciless grip that she had around McCoy’s vulnerable neck, was a girl. A young, harmless-looking girl with blonde hair, blue eyes and dimples. Who also happened to have a knife in her hand.

‘Hello,’ she greeted them cheerfully as they stepped through the door, looking for all the world like she had been expecting them. ‘I was hoping you would turn up soon.’

And just as he opened his mouth to ask the girl who the fuck she was and what the fuck she thought she was doing, Logan saw Erik’s grip on his gun falter and his eyes widen as he opened his mouth and said-

‘ _Raven?_ ’


	35. Storm - Part Two

There was a moment of silence wherein both Erik and Raven simply stared at each other, unmoving. Then Raven suddenly smiled, her mouth pulling up into an unexpectedly sweet little expression of happiness that was completely at odds with her merciless grip around Dr. McCoy’s throat.

‘Erik,’ she beamed, and Erik had to resist the urge to immediately turn around and walk out of the door before he had a chance to do something that he might regret. ‘I’m so happy you were able to make it!’ She bit her lip and glanced up at him coyly. ‘I wasn’t sure whether I had turned up early or not, but – well – it’s better to be a criminally early rather than fashionably late, yes?’ 

Logan, who had apparently decided that he had been quiet for far too long, took the opportunity to let out a snort of irritation.

‘I don’t know who you are,’ he grunted from his place at Erik’s side, his gun still raised and aimed straight at Raven’s head, ‘But the “criminal” part of that sounded about right.’ Logan’s eyes slid to Erik. ‘You know this chick, Lehnsherr?’

Raven turned to Erik before he could answer, beaming at him.

‘Erik!’ she exclaimed, looking genuinely pleased. ‘You’ve made a friend! I’m so proud of you!’

That finally got Erik’s vocal muscles working.

‘I wouldn’t exactly call Logan here a friend,’ he growled and slowly raised his gun up so that he was once again pointing it straight at Raven, ‘But then again, between the two of you? I know who _I_ would choose to have my back.’

‘You’re talkin’ about me, right bub?’ Logan asked after a pause.

Erik gave him a flat look before turning his attention once again on Raven, whose face seemed to have fallen in the face of Erik’s hostility.

‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ she sighed, the corners of her lips pulling downwards. ‘Look,’ she said, and pulled her hand away from McCoy’s throat, causing him to wheeze and sputter as he was finally allowed to take a deep breath. ‘There, everybody’s fine. Isn’t that better?’

Erik’s eyes drifted over to the knife in Raven’s other hand and he gave her a flat, pointed look.

Raven made a noise of impatience. 

‘Oh, right, _I’m_ the big threat here when the two of _you_ have guns pointed at my head,’ she grumbled, giving their weapons a dirty look.

But Erik was not so easily quelled.

‘I’ve seen you with a knife once before,’ he said quietly, his voice all but toneless, ‘and I don’t recall you having any trouble taking out the two armed men in that instance. So forgive me if I don’t drop my guard around you just yet.’

Raven looked chagrined at that but she nodded.

‘I understand,’ she said, sounding slightly subdued. She then, much to Erik’s surprise, lowered her knife so that, like her arm, it was resting against her side instead of being held at the ready. ‘Go on then,’ she said, reaching forward to ruffle McCoy’s hair and causing him to let out a frightened hiccup. ‘You can get off that chair now.’ She had barely finished her sentence before McCoy was out of his chair in a flash, darting away so that he was hidden behind Erik and Logan.

Raven rolled her eyes. 

‘Oh come on, it wasn’t like I was actually planning on murdering you,’ she said dryly, eyeing the Programmer’s trembling limbs with exasperated amusement. ‘I mean – it’s not like we can do this without you, Hank.’

‘Do what?’ Erik asked immediately, his voice sharp.

Raven blinked and looked up at him with a wide-eyed expression.

‘Why, the plan, of course,’ she said in a tone that very much implied that there was a _you dumbass_ at the end of that sentence. ‘The one where we sneak in and bring the Dollhouse down and rescue everyone. Why, was that not the plan?’ her gaze turned speculative. ‘Or were you just planning on breaking Charles out and forget about the rest?’

Erik hid a wince as Logan stirred at the mention of his Active’s name.

‘What the fuck is going on, Lehnsherr?’ he growled, his bushy eyebrows lowering even further down his scowling face. ‘How does she know Charles? How does she know _you_ , for that matter?’

Erik felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead.

‘Her name’s Raven,’ he said shortly, spitting his words out and not moving his eyes away from her. ‘She used to a Doll here at the Dollhouse. She was also, for a brief time, my friend and neighbour before I found out that she was actually an _unhinged, unrepentant murderer_.’ These words were spat pointedly in Raven’s direction. Erik took a moment to calm himself before eventually continuing in a calm, almost pleasant voice. ‘Oh, and she just so happens to also be Charles’s real-life sister.’

That, naturally enough, was what got a reaction.

‘No fucking way.’

Erik didn’t say anything.

Logan shook his head. ‘No. There’s no way. There’s no way in hell that _that’s_ Charles’s sister. You said she’s a goddamn _murderer_?’ He winced at the grim nod that Erik sent him. ‘God fucking damn it, Lehnsherr, you’re telling me that Charles – _my_ Charles – is the brother of a goddamn _lunatic_?’

‘Hey!’ 

Both men tensed at Raven’s sudden shout and they turned to see her fists clenched and her eyes burning with barely-suppressed rage.

‘I am _not_ a lunatic!’ she hissed, her face red and her eyes flashing. ‘And he is not **your** Charles!’ Her chest was heaving with emotion and she looked as unhinged as Erik had ever seen her. ‘He’s not _yours_ , he’s not Erik’s, and he fucking well isn’t _Shaw’s_. He’s _mine_. He’s _my_ brother and nobody else’s and if you fucking think that you can fucking well go ahead and take him from me then I swear that I will-’

‘You’re not exactly proving your point there, are you, sweetheart?’ Logan interrupted in what was probably an attempt at a lazy drawl but sounded a great deal more like an angry snarl. He was watching Raven with a deep sense of mistrustful wariness, her danger appearing all the greater in the face of her instability.

‘Please, Raven,’ Erik said quickly, stepping forward before things could get any worse. He glanced behind him to where McCoy was cowering against the wall and continued with a palpable effort. ‘Whatever may have happened before – it doesn’t matter now. We are all in this together – we are all on the same side here.’ He took a deep breath and prayed that he wasn’t about to make a colossal mistake. ‘The only sensible option here is to have a truce.’

Logan immediately made a noise that put Erik in mind of an angry rhinoceros. 

‘A truce?’ he spat, looking at Erik in disbelief. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? With _this_ psycho?’

Erik turned and glared at him, hoping very much that Raven hadn’t taken offence. This whole thing was taking far too much time for his liking. All he wanted was to just get Charles fixed and out of there so that when the time came he could arrest Shaw and then call for back-up to let _other_ people deal with the all other shit that he couldn’t be bothered with. Which, he thought glumly, glaring at the other people in the room with him, included mediating between a very mentally-unstable young woman and a man who looked like he would be more at home in the wilds of Borneo than your average high-tech, completely illegal, brain-stealing, soul-sucking corporate enterprise.

Raven didn’t seem too pleased about having to deal with Logan but she seemed to deflate at Erik’s look and she nodded, her shoulders slumping as she did so.

‘I had hoped that you would agree to a truce,’ she admitted as she slowly slid her knife away somewhere behind her back. ‘I mean, you’re right – it _is_ the most sensible option. And this way, I won’t need to hurt you if you get in my way.’

‘That’s reassuring,’ Logan said sarcastically, his expression full of clear distaste. Erik glared at him – Logan wasn’t exactly helping things – but secretly he agreed with the sentiment.

Raven’s lip curled as she turned to look at Logan. ‘I would watch it, if I were you,’ she sneered. ‘You wouldn’t want me going all _psycho_ on your ass, now, would you?’

‘You just try it, sister,’ Logan growled, his hackles rising.

‘Hey!’ Erik’s tone was sharp and caused the other two to immediately quieten down. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for this – _No_ , I don’t care what you think of the idea, Howlett, this is not up for discussion. The two of you are going to _shut up_ and _get on with it_ , do you understand?’

Both Raven and Logan stared at him for a moment before turning to exchange glances with each other, as if to say _can you believe this guy?_ And just like that everything seemed to settle down.

‘Right,’ Erik said, wiping a hand across his face and feeling suddenly exhausted. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen.’ He turned to face McCoy, who was still hovering nervously at the back of the room, albeit with more colour in his cheeks than had been there at the start. ‘You – McCoy, right?’ Erik waited for the boy to nod before carrying on. ‘You open the door and tell MacTaggart to get her ass in here, you got me?’

McCoy swallowed, looking like he wished that he was anywhere but where he was, before nodding hurriedly and darting over to the door. Erik sighed and turned his eyes back on Raven, who was looking after Hank with an almost fond expression.

‘Awfully jumpy, isn’t he?’ she asked, smiling slightly.

Erik raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes,’ he said dryly. ‘Having a knife held to your throat will do that to you.’

Logan snorted at that, causing Raven to pout and cross her arms over her chest.

‘I didn’t _actually_ hold a knife to his throat,’ she said petulantly. ‘I just … waved one about. It wasn’t like I actually planned on hurting him. I like Hank. He-’ her cheerfulness suddenly faded and she began to look pained and almost confused. ‘He – he was nice to me,’ she finished vaguely, her gaze suddenly far away.

Erik went still.

‘He was here?’ he said quietly, trying to control his expression. It didn’t seem to work, however, as Raven glanced up at him with rounded eyes and Logan shot him a sideways expression. ‘He was here when you – when you-’

‘Yes,’ Raven answered, her voice almost as quiet as Erik’s had been. ‘Yes, he was there. He was nice, though. He – he was always very kind to me.’ She glanced up at Erik. ‘He didn’t know what Essex was doing, you know,’ she said in what she seemed to think was a reassuring tone. ‘He’s not as bad as you think he is.’

‘He’s involved in this place, isn’t he?’ Erik growled. ‘I bet he’s _exactly_ the kind of scumbag that I think he is.’

‘You know, I feel like I should be taking exception to something there,’ Logan interrupted with his usual laidback drawl. ‘But – you know what – I’m going to let it pass for now.’

‘Yeah, you’re a real fucking saint,’ Raven snapped, glaring at him.

Erik’s mouth twitched. ‘What she said,’ he jerked his head towards Raven before turning his gaze over to the door, where McCoy was just letting Moira step through. She entered the room cautiously, her gun still drawn and her muscles tensed. Her eyes then fell on Raven and her eyes narrowed.

‘Mystique,’ she said quietly, raising her gun and pointing it at Raven. ‘Hank told me that it was you.’

Erik frowned at the name while Logan seemed to do a double-take, turning to stare at Raven, who was frowning at Moira.

‘Do I know you?’ she asked, looking slightly puzzled.

Moira shook her head.

‘No,’ she said decidedly. ‘You don’t. But I remember you.’ Here Moira lifted her chin, her eyes cold and angry as she faced Raven. ‘I could hardly forget. You killed my very first Active.’

Raven grimaced before nodding, looking thoughtful. ‘Ah. Sorry about that. Who was it? Jubilee? Bishop?’

‘Kitty,’ Moira said, and her eyes were clouded with anger and grief. ‘Her name was Kitty.’

‘Hmm,’ Raven nodded slowly. ‘I remember her.’ She shrugged. ‘Sorry about that. But then again, she _was_ trying to kill me at the time.’

Moira’s expression tightened but she didn’t reply. Instead, she allowed her expression to smoothen over before turning to Erik.

‘Is it safe?’ she asked.

It took Erik a moment to realise what she was saying. He frowned and turned to glance at Logan, who just shrugged. Erik let out a sigh before – with one quick, furtive glace at Raven – turning to MacTaggart and nodding.

‘Yes,’ he said heavily, meeting Moira’s eyes. ‘It’s safe. Bring him in.’

Raven immediately tensed.

‘Who?’ she demanded, and Erik saw the way that her fingers instantly crept towards the knife at her side. ‘Who’s out there? What are you talking about?’

Erik grimaced.

‘I need you to be calm,’ he said quietly, speaking as if to a startled deer. ‘Raven, listen to me, it’s important that you stay-’

But Raven’s attention was distracted by the opening of the door, Moira standing aside to let in Hank, followed closely by –

Raven let out a startled cry and grasped hold of the chair in front of her so that she didn’t fall to her knees.

‘Charles!’ she moaned, her eyes suddenly filling with tears of joy and relief and confused fury. ‘Charles, is it really …?’ her voice trailed off and she stared at the newcomer helplessly, looking as lost as a child. ‘Charles,’ she whispered again, her voice full of tears and longing and so much pain that even Logan had to look away in the face of it.

Charles, of course, was oblivious to the flood of emotion that he had caused, but he had looked up at the sound of his name, and, upon seeing Raven, had begun to smile vaguely at her.

‘Hello,’ he said, taking a few steps forward before Hank hastily grabbed hold of him. ‘I am Charles.’

Raven just looked at him for a moment before abruptly scrambling up and, before anyone else could intervene, darting in front of Charles and grasping him by the shoulders.

‘Charles,’ she said, desperate eagerness almost dripping off of her. ‘Charles, it’s _me_. It’s _Raven_ , Charles, your _sister_ , remember?’

Charles was starting to squirm, the normal, cool blankness of his expression rippling into something pained and confused.

‘It’s _me_ , Charles,’ Raven was continuing to say, her grip growing tighter and her tone more desperate the more confused Charles looked. ‘Dammit, _remember_ me, Charles, I’m your _fucking sister_ , you stupid-’

She was suddenly ripped away from Charles and almost sent flying by the combined forces of Erik and Logan, each of whom had expressions of the deepest fury on their faces.

‘Raven!’ Erik snapped, at the same time as Logan snarled, ‘What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?’ They stood in front of Charles, hiding him from Raven’s view. Moira and Hank were meanwhile trying their best to console Charles, who was still looking disturbed and confused, his skin pale and his eyes wide and staring.

‘ _He’s my brother!_ ’ Raven snarled back, straightening up from where she had fallen. ‘He’s _my_ brother, not yours, and I can do what I fucking well like-’

‘He doesn’t _know_ you!’ Erik roared, cutting off even Logan’s heated response with the sheer fury in his voice. ‘He doesn’t know _who_ you are or understand what you are doing. Look at him, Raven. _Look at him_ ,’ he bellowed, when Raven ducked her head sulkily. He waited until she had reluctantly lifted her head before continuing. ‘Do you see what you have done to him? Do you? He’s _terrified_ , Raven, and you – _you_ , his _sister_ – did that to him. Do you see?’

Raven turned away, allowing the fall of her hair to cover her face, as if unable to face the rest of them.

Erik contained himself with effort, his breath coming out in sharp fits and bursts as he tried to calm himself down. Logan, meanwhile, was looking at him thoughtfully.

‘Huh,’ he said at last, when Erik looked like he was once more in possession of himself. ‘Remind me never to get on your bad side, Lehnsherr.’

Erik found himself huffing out a laugh despite himself and he turned to Logan with a wry expression on his face. ‘Too late for that,’ he muttered, but there was a hint of humour in the words for all that his tone was gruff.

Logan snorted, a sharp grin alighting on his features.

‘Walked into that one, didn’t I?’ he muttered, but the grin still stayed on his face.

Moira rolled her eyes.

‘If you two have finished with the male bonding session,’ she said dryly from where she was huddling against Charles, ‘perhaps we could get on with the plan without any further interruptions?’

‘We should be so lucky,’ Logan mumbled, but he nodded in agreement.

‘Um – excuse me,’ everyone appeared to be surprised when McCoy – who had been as quiet as a church mouse thus far – suddenly began to speak. From the look on his face and the blush riding high on his cheeks, he appeared to be almost as surprised as they were. ‘I don’t really want to get in the middle of anything, but – what did you say was going on?’ He aimed this question primarily at Logan and Moira, as if unable to look at Erik or Raven without his mouth going dry with fear.

Erik had a hard time stopping himself from making a noise of impatience, which he only just managed to reign in at Moira’s pointed glare in his direction, before she turned and began to explain the matter to Hank in a soothing voice. Patience had never been one of Erik’s many virtues and his already paltry supply had run short very soon into the undertaking.

‘So,’ Hank said slowly when Moira had finally finished her explanation, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he frowned. ‘You,’ and here he gestured at Erik, who simply glowered back, ‘are with the police and came here to get Charles out and arrest Shaw.’

‘Without back-up,’ Logan chipped in helpfully, earning him an irate glare from Erik that didn’t actually seem to do much damage to Logan’s mood.

‘Without back-up,’ Hank continued nervously. ‘And everyone else just piled on and – what? – decided to help?’

Moira shrugged.

‘That sounds about right,’ she admitted, before throwing a dirty look in Raven’s direction. ‘Although I’m not sure how _she_ fits into the equation.’

Raven, who seemed to have got herself under control once more, gave a loud sniff that made her sound like the snooty, spoiled little rich girl that she was very much supposed to be.

‘You mean except for the fact that I’m Charles’s sister and that Erik here is my best friend?’ Erik made a low, strangled noise at that but no one paid him any attention except for Logan, who threw him an amused glance. ‘And there’s not forgetting the fact that once upon a time I used to be kept _trapped_ in this bloody place.’

But Erik was frowning.

‘Raven,’ he said tightly. ‘Just how exactly _did_ you find out about tonight? I thought that you were the one who sent the letter but that turned out to be Howlett …’ His expression darkened. ‘… So how the hell _did_ you get in on this?’

Raven shrugged, not looking at all put out by the question.

‘Easy,’ she said, tossing her blonde hair. ‘I broke in and found the letter. You really should take better care of yourself,’ she said reproachfully, shaking her head at Erik and completely ignoring the outrage in his expression. ‘It was _way_ too easy for me to keep track of you and then break in when you were out. Oh and by the way? I’m really glad you started showering again – that whole period where you just drank yourself stupid on the sofa and watched TV? That _really_ sucked.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Erik mumbled, scowling. He determinedly did not look in Logan’s direction. ‘Never mind that now.’

‘Hey, you asked,’ Raven raised her arms in defence. ‘Besides, it was actually kinda sweet, if you think about it, the way you just fell apart after I-’

‘I said _enough_!’ Erik snapped. He turned to Hank, who gulped in the face of his ire. ‘We’re out of time – you need to choose.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Will you help us willingly? Or must we force you?’

Hank swallowed.

‘Are those the only two options?’ he asked weakly. At Erik’s glare he slumped, ducking his head. ‘I’ll help,’ he said quickly. ‘There’s no need for any forcing!’

Erik let out a sigh of relief and this thankfulness was equally clear on the faces of the others.

‘Good choice, bub,’ Logan said, clapping McCoy on the back with a powerful hand. ‘Fuck knows what Lehnsherr would have done otherwise.’

‘Let’s hope we never find out,’ Moira said sharply. She gently pushed Hank forward. ‘Go on, Hank, don’t be scared. Nobody’s going to hurt you.’

‘Unless you don’t cooperate,’ Erik muttered darkly, causing McCoy to let out a frightened squeak and Moira to roll her eyes.

‘Right,’ Hank stammered, glancing nervously at Erik before shuffling away. The first thing to do would be to get Charles’s memory file.’

‘And where would that be?’ Moira asked encouragingly,

‘In the office,’ Hank said at once, but then his face fell. ‘But the cupboard where the memory disks are kept is locked and – and I’m afraid that only Miss Frost has the key.’

Raven let out a snort. ‘Somehow,’ she said dryly, gesturing over to Erik and Logan, who were still holding onto their guns, ‘I don’t think that that will be much of a problem.’

Hank gaped at them for a moment before shaking his head and nodding. 

‘Right,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Of course. Never mind.’ He cleared his throat and straightened up. ‘So – once we have the disk … oh. I don’t suppose that anyone has any idea what Charles’s real name is? Only it would make finding the correct disk a great deal ea-’

‘Raven is Charles’s _sister_ ,’ Erik interrupted him, his tone scathing. ‘I _think_ we’ve got a good chance of getting the correct name.’

Raven smirked at that but her expression, when she turned to Hank, was kindly.

‘It’s Xavier,’ she said, a small, sad smile on her face. ‘His name is Charles Xavier.’

Charles’s head suddenly jerked up, causing them all to jump. He blinked his eyes and Erik, who was watching closely, saw the way that his lips moved to form the word ‘Xavier’. There was a small spark in his eyes and for a moment it almost seemed like there was some sort of knowledge behind the gaze … but then the light in his eyes dimmed and Charles’s expression returned to being one of gentle equanimity and everything was back to normal once more. 

‘Huh,’ Hank said, scratching his nose. ‘That rather seemed to trigger something, didn’t it? How extraordinary …’

‘Yeah, it’s _fascinating_ ,’ Logan drawled. ‘Now, can we get a move on or what?’

Hank nodded hurriedly and, pushing his glasses up his nose once more, started puttering about the office, mumbling under his breath as he went. He seemed to be in a completely different headspace than before. 

‘Right,’ he said a minute later. ‘We need to head over to the Programming Room so that we can set Charles up in the Chair.’ His eyes drifted over to Logan. ‘Logan will need to be there. You others …’ he hesitated but then he caught the matching scowls on Erik and Raven’s faces and he quickly deflated. ‘You others can come too, I guess,’ he finished lamely.

Erik nodded decisively.

‘Good,’ he said. He turned his head and his expression gentled when his eyes came to rest on Charles. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, in a markedly softer voice. ‘You – McCoy – lead the way.’

Hank nodded at that and, after making sure that Logan and Charles were following close behind him, turned to head over to the door to his office.

‘This shouldn’t take too long,’ he explained, talking over his shoulder as his hand reached out to grip the handle of the office door. ‘I mean, _yes_ , actually finding Charles’s memory disk might take a good few minutes, but once we do, it’s pretty much all plain sai-’ There was a noise like a squeak and then McCoy’s enthusiastic chatter was abruptly cut off.

The others all immediately lifted there heads, their muscles tense, turning to see what had caused McCoy to pause so suddenly. As they watched, they saw the door start to swing open, moving independently of Hank’s frozen hand and leaving the doorway wide and clear to view.

Erik felt his blood go cold. Beside him, Moira let out a stifled gasp and he could hear Logan let out a rumbling growl that cut through the otherwise deathly silence that filled the room.

‘Well, what have we here?’ came a low, rumbling voice, and Erik stared as a man the size of a small mountain and with an appearance even wilder than Logan’s loomed in front of them, blocking their way out. As they watched, his thick, pink-lipped mouth stretched out in a wide, feral smile, his teeth glinting in the reflected light in a way that made his canines seem excessively long. ‘A gathering of little mice, hmm?’

There was a moment of silence wherein Erik’s hand crept increasingly closer towards his gun, before Logan suddenly cleared his throat and stepped forward.

‘Creed,’ he said calmly, nodding at the man in the doorway. ‘Didn’t know you were around.’

The man – Creed – smirked at that, his lips twisting up further in a strange little smile.

‘Oh, I’m always about,’ he said easily, his eyes sparking with something that could have been merriment but instead seemed more like malice. ‘Always wherever I’m needed.’

‘That’s nice,’ Logan drawled. ‘But we’re fine as we are, so why don’t you go off and find somewhere where you _are_ needed?’

But Creed just smiled that same strange smile of his and stayed silent, rocking on the balls of his feet like a giddy toddler.

‘Who’re your friends?’ he asked abruptly, his gaze zeroing in on Erik and Raven. His eyes barely touched on Hank, Charles and Moira. ‘They’re not from around here. I would know.’

Erik’s jaw tightened but he deliberately refrained from looking at Logan, who was taking things surprisingly calmly.

‘You know Charles,’ he said easily, reaching up to scratch his jaw. ‘And I know you know the Doc, she musta treated you a coupla hundred times since you started-’

‘I wasn’t talking about _them_ , Howlett,’ Creed interrupted him, smiling coolly. ‘I was talking about Blondie over there,’ he nodded at Raven, ‘and this guy.’ His eyes met Erik’s and he smiled his toothsome smile again. It took everything Erik had in him not to lash out in that moment and do something stupid. Creed grinned. ‘The one who looks like he wants to take a knife to my throat.’

‘Isn’t that how everyone looks at you?’ Logan asked idly. When Creed only continued to watch him patiently, he sighed. ‘Look, Creed, I was supposed to keep this quiet, but these two here,’ he jerked his head over at them, and Erik was surprised to find that he and Raven were now standing shoulder to shoulder, as if they had drifted closer together since the time that Creed had appeared in the doorway, ‘well – they’re potential clients, see?’ Logan lowered his voice then, as if letting Creed in on a secret. ‘Frost didn’t want to let people know that she was allowin’ people to scope the place out, so she told me not to say nothin’, see?’

‘Hmm,’ Creed still had that same, strange look about him. ‘Miss Frost asked you to do this?’ Logan nodded. ‘I see. And your reason for bringing Miss Frost’s guests _here_ with your Active _and_ Dr. MacTaggart to see Dr. McCoy is …?’

‘I was already here,’ Moira said quickly, lifting her chin in defiance. ‘I wanted to consult with Dr. McCoy over the possibilities of any residual patterns in behaviour arising as a consequence of the Actives’ assignments.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Hank and I were just discussing the plausibility of such an occurrence when Mr. Howlett arrived.’

‘Yeah, and I thought it would be a good idea to keep Charles with me for the day,’ Logan added. ‘So that they could see what’s on offer, so to speak.’ 

Erik hid a grimace.

‘I see,’ Creed said slowly. He nodded to himself before turning to Logan and smiling widely. ‘And aren’t you going to introduce me to your fine guests?’

Logan seemed to have been caught off foot by the request and for a moment he just stared at Creed. Then he quickly shook his head and nodded, but not before his eyes had narrowed into thin slits of badly-suppressed anger.

‘Mr. Smith, this here’s Victor Creed, Head of Security,’ he muttered, looking more mutinous than anything. ‘Creed, this is Mr. Smith and his … wife.’ Erik swallowed down a curse. ‘His wife, Jane Smith.’

‘A pleasure,’ Raven said coldly.

Erik, for his part, didn’t say a word. He merely ducked his head in brusque acknowledgement.

Creed, meanwhile, was looking strangely thoughtful.

‘Mr. and Mrs. Smith, hmm?’ Everyone in the room kept completely still and Erik found himself wishing that he could reach over and smack McCoy around the back of his head in order to get him to change the petrified expression on his face. ‘That’s odd.’ He turned to look around at all of them and his smile slid back onto his face, full of devilish cunning. ‘You see, I was under the impression that I was going to be dealing with a Detective Erik Lehnsherr and a former Active known as Mystique.’

There was a moment of complete silence.

‘Huh,’ Logan said after a moment, and Erik could see that even he was struggling to retain his calm. ‘I didn’t see that one coming.’

Creed smirked, his expression bordering on triumphant.

Erik forced himself to speak. ‘How did you know?’ he asked tensely, clenching his fists tight. ‘How did you know who we were?’

Creed made a scoffing noise. ‘You seem to be under the impression that we have a substandard security team, Detective Lehnsherr,’ His lip curled. ‘Did you honestly think that your efforts to find us had gone unnoticed? That we wouldn’t know who you were? And you,’ he turned his face towards Raven, ‘You were not able destroy every single file that we had on you when you left here. We may not have met before, but rest assured – I have been made well aware of just who you are and what you are capable of.’

Raven snarled at that and looked ready to claw the man’s eyes out. It was only Erik’s reassuring brush against her shoulder that restrained her from doing something stupid.

‘I think the most important question,’ Moira said quietly, her eyes never moving away from Creed’s, ‘is just what exactly you intend on doing now that you know who they are?’

Creed blinked, as if in surprise. He turned to Moira with a pitying look. ‘I’m the Head of Security,’ he said pointedly. ‘What do you _think_ I’m going to do?’

Logan sighed. ‘Yeah,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘See, that? That’s going to be a problem.’

Creed cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Logan continued. ‘See, there are five of us here – six, if you include Charles – and only one of you. Now, I _may_ be mistaken-’ his expression indicated that he very much was not ‘- but I reckon that six is a much bigger number than one. You get me?’ He paused. ‘I’ll give you a minute, if you need some time to figure that one out.’

Creed pretended to think about that.

‘Huh,’ he said at last, his voice slow and thoughtful. ‘Now that you mention it, I might need a moment. You see,’ his eyes glinted and Erik had a sudden thrill of foreboding, ‘I think you got your figures wrong.’

Logan frowned. ‘Oh yeah?’ he asked warily, his lazy drawl a great contrast to the way his eyes were suddenly alert and unblinking. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Well,’ Creed continued slowly, his eyes gleaming out at them from under his thick, heavy eyelids. ‘I _may_ be mistaken, but – tell me: isn’t _ten_ a much bigger number than _six_?’

The next minute seemed to pass by in slow motion for Erik as the words sunk in. His eyes widened and he saw the mirrored looks of shock on the others’ faces, but it was already too late. Creed grinned viciously at them all before taking a step back and nodding. His chin had barely reached his chest before there was a sudden swirl of black and the room was immediately swarmed by almost a dozen uniformed, armed men.

Raven let out a noise similar to that of an enraged tiger and looked ready to leap forward, her knife already clutched tightly in her hands, but Erik quickly restrained her. He had seen the way that at least two of the gun-wielding men had immediately trained their weapons on her upon entering the room and he knew, however fast she was, that there was no way that Raven would have been able to make it to the front of the room without being mowed down by a dozen heavy, lead bullets before she had even taken her first step.

Creed, who had followed his men back into the room, saw this and grinned.

‘Good thinking,’ he said with a nod at Erik. ‘My men would not have hesitated to shoot her.’ He then turned to a murderous-looking Logan and shrugged. ‘What? You didn’t think that I would come without back-up, did you? It would have been singularly stupid of me, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah,’ Logan muttered, glowering over at Erik. ‘ _Stupid._ ’

Erik scowled and looked away.

Creed smirked before he then turned to look at his men.

‘Bring them,’ he ordered, before spinning on his heel and walking out of the door.

Erik snarled when one of the men came up behind him and started to pat him down, his expression feral and full of rage. Beside him, Moira was saying something sharp and dismissive while McCoy babbled on about something or the other that the armed men ushering him out clearly had no intention of listening to.

‘Get your hands off me!’ Raven snapped as one of the guards attempted to check her for weapons while another trained his gun on her forehead from a safe distance. It was this threat of being shot that appeared to be the only thing restraining Raven from cracking a few skulls and she scowled around at the men about her, her lip curling as she assessed each one. ‘I am going to kill you,’ she promised, her voice low and steady. ‘I am going to kill each and every one of you for this, you see if I don’t.’ 

There was a brief stir of unease among the men as they glanced at each other warily.

‘She means it, you know,’ Logan said from where he was standing with his hands behind his head. He grimaced as the man patting him down pulled out a knife from his boot. ‘Blondie there’s a complete psycho – I wouldn’t stand too close to her, if I were you.’

The man at Raven’s side edged away almost despite himself.

Logan allowed himself a smirk at that before a look of sudden outrage crossed his face. ‘Hey!’ he snarled, pushing forward, only to have a gun pressed into his back. ‘Hey, you get away from him!’

Erik quickly turned his head to see one of the men approach Charles, who was already showing signs of discomfort due to the increased noise and tension. This distress only increased when the man reached out to grab hold of his arm, his black-gloved hand closing tightly over the pale skin of Charles’s forearm.

‘Don’t you touch him!’ Erik immediately roared, struggling to move forward. ‘Get your hands off him!’

The man holding Charles hesitated, glancing between Erik and Logan and the other men on this team, none of whom seemed to know what to do.

‘He’s a fucking Doll, you moron,’ Logan hollered, his eyes blazing as he watched the man touch his Active. ‘You don’t know the first damn thing about dealing with him! Now _stand aside_! Or I swear to God, Frost is gonna have your balls – and that’s _after_ I fucking _gut_ you.’

The man hesitated for a moment before swallowing, and Erik let out a sigh of relief as the man finally let go of Charles’s arm and quickly moved away.

‘Here,’ the man nodded at Moira, who was watching in concern. ‘Dr. MacTaggart – you take care of the Doll, okay?’

Logan’s eyes flashed. ‘He’s _my_ Active!’ he snarled, although he too looked relieved to see Moira approach Charles and begin to soothe him. He was ignored, however, and soon they were all being prodded forward and ushered on towards the door.

‘Where are you taking us?’ Erik demanded as he approached the doorway.

‘Probably to Frost,’ Logan muttered over his shoulder, glaring as the man behind him poked him in the back with the barrel of his gun. He fell quiet then, and they all trooped down the stairs in silence, their arms in the air and grim expressions on their faces.

It was only when they were near the bottom of the staircase that Logan opened his mouth again.

‘Look,’ he said, and Erik could tell that he was taking pains to sound calm and reasonable. ‘Whatever you want to do with us – fine. But Charles, here – he’s a _Doll_. He’s like a fucking _child_. He shouldn’t be anywhere near here – you know that. All I’m askin’ is that you just let us take him back and put him to sleep again, all right? Just – to keep him safe, yeah?’

‘That will not be necessary.’

They all jumped at the sound of the voice that seemed to come from in front of them, floating in from the Dollhouse atrium. None of them recognised it – all they knew was that it did not sound like Creed.

Feeling anxious, they stepped down off the stairs and turned into the foyer.

Erik felt his heart sink.

Standing in the middle of the hallway, looking completely at ease and almost bored with the proceedings, was a beautiful woman dressed all in white. Frost, Erik guessed. A few paces behind her stood Victor Creed, his chest puffed out and his expression smug and supercilious as he gazed back at them. Standing next to Frost, however, with his hair slicked back and his expression almost frighteningly genial, stood – 

‘Shaw,’ Raven whispered, her body suddenly frozen still. ‘Sebastian Shaw.’

And the man in front of them – Sebastian Shaw – lowered his head and smiled.


	36. Dead End

Erik found the barrel of a gun pressed sharply between his ribs and, coming back to himself, he realised with a jolt of surprise that he appeared to have surged forward with a snarl the moment that he had identified the man standing in front of them. Judging from the savage noises that both Raven and Logan were making he hadn’t been alone in doing so.

Shaw, unfortunately, didn’t seem to be all that concerned about the violent anger that was being aimed in his direction. Instead, he turned to look at the group assembled before him with a look of deeply indulgent paternalism that made Erik itch to put a bullet between his eyes.

‘Hello there!’ Shaw said cheerfully, nodding and beaming at them as if they were all old acquaintances of his. ‘It is so good of you to take time out of your busy schedules to join me here. I know how busy you all are.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I know how busy you all have _been_.’ He gazed down the line of angry, scared faces pointed in his direction and his look of reproach quickly morphed into a sly and triumphant smirk that he made no attempt to hide from them. Then his eyes abruptly came to rest on Charles and his expression immediately altered. Erik felt a violent surge of nausea at the flare of greed and desire that flickered across Shaw’s otherwise cold and calculating eyes.

‘Charlie!’ Shaw grinned broadly, his lips pulling up into a greedy, lascivious smile. ‘There you are, pet! How about you come over here and join me, kitten?’ Shaw raised an arm and beckoned Charles over.

But Charles didn’t move. Out of the corner of his eye Erik saw Logan and Moira share a strained glance.

‘Charles!’ Shaw barked again, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I said come _here_.’

Something flickered across Charles’s face but still he didn’t move. 

Erik felt a flare of panic at the sudden dark expression that crossed Shaw’s face and he threw Logan an urgent look, hoping that he would intervene before Shaw did something to hurt Charles. Before Logan could respond, however, Emma Frost began to speak.

‘He will not respond to you,’ she said in a bored tone, her eyes on her nails and her posture betraying nothing but complete indifference to the matter at hand. When Shaw’s head swivelled towards her she continued. ‘He has not been Programmed to. In high-pressure situations like this,’ here Frost glanced up from her nails and her eyes lingered on the gun-wielding guards and the tense expressions on the faces of everyone around her, ‘our Actives will respond only to their Handlers. Which, in this case, is him,’ she jerked her head towards Logan, who immediately stopped cursing under his breath and stood up straighter, his expression fierce.

‘Hmm,’ Shaw didn’t sound too pleased about that. ‘I see. Nevertheless …’ he turned his head to face Victor Creed, who was at his side in an instant. ‘Go and bring Charlie over here,’ he ordered, idly watching Logan’s features twist into a mask of intense loathing. ‘Immediately, please.’

Creed ducked his head in a nod and immediately walked over towards Charles.

‘Don’t you touch him, Creed,’ Logan snarled, and Erik could see that he now had two guards pressing their guns against his chest. ‘You touch one hair on his head and I swear I’ll _rip_ your fucking head off-’

But Creed just smirked at him as he passed, heading over towards Charles. Erik’s jaw was clenched as he approached but Creed was surprisingly gentle as he took hold of Charles’s arm and pulled him along, leading him over to Shaw as docile as a little lamb. That did not stop Logan from viciously cursing Creed, however, and the look on his face was nothing short of murderous as he watched Creed deliver his Active over into Shaw’s greedy hands.

Erik had to look away upon seeing the smile on Shaw’s face then, unable to bear the sight of his almost indecent satisfaction as he once again laid hands on Charles. His blood was boiling in his veins and he wanted to rage out loud but Erik knew that it wouldn’t be of any use: he was, for all intents and purposes, impotent. Shaw held all the cards and all that he and the others could do now was wait.

‘Now then,’ came Shaw’s voice and Erik risked glancing up again. Shaw’s right arm was now tucked firmly around Charles’s waist but his focus was once more on Erik and the others. From the disgusted expressions on the others’ faces, however – not to mention the delicate wrinkling of Emma Frost’s nose – Erik could tell that he had only just managed to miss Shaw’s overly-tactile reunion with Charles. ‘What shall we do with _you_ five little meddlers?’

Nobody spoke. They all just stared back at Shaw, their expressions mutinous.

Shaw let out a disappointed sigh. ‘Well, I suppose that the question _was_ rhetorical in your cases,’ he admitted, raising his shoulder in a half-shrug. He turned his head to the right, brushing a vague kiss on Charles’s head as he did so. ‘Emma?’ he asked lightly, all genteel politeness. ‘What about you, my dear? Do you have anything to say to our little troop of interlopers?’

Emma raised her eyes from the ice-white wall opposite them, her thoughts obviously having been focused on something completely different. She allowed her eyes to drift slowly over from Shaw to Charles and then onto Erik, Logan and the others.

‘Yes,’ she said at last, slowly moving out of her statue-like pose and taking a step forward. ‘Yes, I do have a few things to say.’ Her eyes raked coldly over the five of them, and her eyes narrowed. ‘I am very disappointed in you,’ she said, and although she had not raised her voice it was clear that her tone was icy, ‘In _all_ of you.’ Hank let out something akin to a whimper and stared down at his toes, looking genuinely mortified. Emma’s eyes hovered on him for a moment before she turned away, only for her gaze to fall on Logan, at which her expression turned even frostier. ‘Especially you, Mr. Howlett,’ she said coldly, her lip curling. ‘I expected better from you. _Much_ better.’ 

There was a pause. Logan was defiantly meeting Emma’s stare but Erik had seen him grimace at her words, apparently thrown off by the disappointment in Frost’s tone.

‘Then again,’ Frost resumed, letting out a sigh and allowing her gaze to drift away from them, ‘I don’t know why I am so surprised, considering that you would do almost anything for your Active. The others, however …’ She shook her head with something akin to wonder. ‘It seems that Charles here has a knack of fostering … _attachments_ in others,’ she raised an eyebrow in inquiry as she looked around at them. With a jolt Erik realised that, except for perhaps Hank, every single one of them was there in some capacity because of Charles. Emma sighed and shook her head. ‘I really ought to have got rid of him from the first,’ she mused, looking thoughtful. ‘The boy has been a great deal more trouble that he’s worth, when you think about it. We really would have been much better off without him.’

‘It’s a good thing that it wasn’t your call then, isn’t it, my dear?’ Shaw interrupted, stepping forward and patting Frost’s shoulder in a manner that absolutely no one could fail to find condescending. ‘Although I must confess myself surprised at your indifference to him, considering how perceptive you usually are. Far be it for me to cast aspersions on your normally impeccable taste … but perhaps this time you have missed something, hmm?’

Emma’s expression had shuttered at Shaw’s interjection and Erik was sure that she was having difficulty biting back a scowl. When she turned to answer Shaw, however, her face was once again a mask of perfect blankness.

‘Charles is an Active like any other in my House,’ she said coolly, delicately extricating herself from Shaw’s touch with only the barest wrinkling of her nose. ‘I am sure he is a _delightful_ companion –’ her tone gained at touch of dryness, ‘but as far as I am concerned, he holds the same sort of appeal that all my Actives do. Besides,’ and her voice held a definite spark of disdain now although it was seamlessly hidden behind a veil of pure indifference, ‘ _I_ happen to prefer my partners _conscious_ and _willing_ … which, I grant you, seems to be a rather unusual foible for a person in this industry.’

There was an uneasy stirring among the guards at that but Shaw seemed to be more amused than irritated by her words.

‘You may be blind to Mr. Xavier’s charms, my dear,’ he chuckled, reaching out and patting her shoulder once again – and the action was just as patronising as it had been the first time around, ‘but believe me – I have sampled them, and they are many.’ There was a noise of choked-off outrage from Raven and Erik was sure that had he, Raven and Logan not had multiple guns pointed at their chests then numerous heads would have rolled in that moment. 

Shaw seemed to be all too aware of that as well, for he grinned around at them all and clutched Charles even closer to him, squeezing his waist tightly as he did so.

‘What was that?’ he asked solicitously, acting as if he was a gracious host at a tea party. ‘I’m afraid that I missed that. Did someone say something?’

‘Yeah,’ Raven spat out, unable to contain yourself, ‘I said that you’re a sick, sadistic _fuck_ and that I’m going to fucking take a _hatchet_ to your fu-uuumph!’ she let out a muffled noise of pain when one of the guards rammed her in the stomach with the butt of his gun. 

Erik winced in sympathy. He knew from personal experience just how painful that could be.

‘Like I said,’ Shaw continued smoothly as if Raven had not said anything. ‘Does anyone have anything to say?’

Logan looked like he was seriously considering saying something but a wary glance at Raven seemed to make him think better of it. Erik was surprised. Logan was clearly smarter than he had given him credit for.

‘Well,’ Shaw remarked, looking between them all with a smile, ‘If there’s nothing else then I won’t keep you from your collective appointments with the Attic … Farewell, all!’ He smiled widely at them before tightening his grip on Charles and making to leave.

‘Just a minute, Sebastian.’ 

Emma’s voice was cool and unperturbed but it still seemed to startle everyone in the room, unexpected as it was. Shaw frowned, undoubtedly irritated by the interruption, but he nevertheless turned to face Frost, his expression genial.

‘Yes, my dear?’ he asked, and Erik was unwillingly impressed by the number of shiny white teeth that Shaw managed to show.

Emma was watching Shaw closely, her gaze clear and focused.

‘I think you’re forgetting something, Sebastian,’ she said coolly, folding her arms and arching her eyebrow at him. ‘Don’t you?’

There was definitely a flicker of irritation on Shaw’s face now.

‘Oh?’ he asked, and gone was the oily smoothness of before. Erik noted with some concern the way that Shaw’s fingers were gripped painfully tight around Charles’s arm. ‘I hadn’t realised. Please do share, my dear.’

Emma’s eyebrow was still raised in scepticism as she nodded calmly at Charles.

‘Him,’ she said, and though her tone was light there was an undercurrent of steel in it. ‘Charles. He has not been Programmed yet,’ Her eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘You _do_ remember that he needs to be Programmed, don’t you, Sebastian? Or were you just intending on walking out of here with my Active in his current neutralised state?’

There was a choked off noise from Raven and Erik could see that Moira’s face had suddenly gone white – though with shock or fury, Erik could not tell. He frowned, uncomprehending. Then he played over what it was that Emma had said and he immediately felt the blood leave his face. Was – was Frost insinuating – 

There was another rustle of uneasiness from the armed guards surrounding them as they shuffled from foot to foot.

Shaw’s expression had darkened and he was now gazing at Emma with a muted anger, his face stony and hard. Upon noticing the attention from the others, however, he made a visible effort to change his expression into something more open and relaxed.

‘… Obviously not,’ he said after a moment, trying to inject some of his previous good-humour into his words despite the fact that he was fooling absolutely no one. ‘Naturally I wouldn’t. I simply … forgot. Obviously he will have to be Programmed before we can start – ah – fraternising.’

‘Hmm,’ Emma looked unimpressed. ‘Yes. Obviously.’

Shaw frowned at her tone, the marks of frustration slowly becoming visible on his face. ‘Well get on with it then!’ he said sharply, snapping when Emma didn’t do anything more than stare at him.

Emma’s eyebrow twitched upwards minutely but otherwise her expression remained completely flat. ‘My Programmer is in your line-up,’ she said in a deliberately slow voice. ‘How am I supposed to get anything done with my Programmer being threatened with the Attic?’

Erik’s forehead creased and he allowed his gaze to roam between Emma and Shaw. Whatever her faults were – and Erik was sure that they were many – Frost seemed to take her position as the head of the Dollhouse seriously. The woman had guts, he thought reluctantly, to be able to stand up to Shaw like that. And she couldn’t have been very happy to see her people all lined up in a neat little row destined for the Attic, either. Erik hoped that – if she deigned to exert her influence in such a way – Frost’s interference would at least save McCoy; he hadn’t exactly been a willing participant, after all, and as much as Erik disliked what it was that he did, McCoy didn’t seem to be a bad sort. Maybe, if they were lucky, MacTaggart would be spared as well. He, Logan and Raven may not get such leniency, he supposed, but McCoy and MacTaggart deserved to get out of this without getting their brains fried. At least then there would be _someone_ left in the House to look out for Charles …

Erik’s train of thought was interrupted by Shaw’s sudden exclamation of disgust.

‘Fine!’ he barked, and glared at them all. ‘Fine. You,’ he turned his impatient glare on Creed, who immediately jumped to attention. ‘Bring me the Programmer.’ He tightened his grip on Charles’s arm before suddenly releasing it, causing Charles to totter slightly. ‘We’ll get this over and done with right now.’

‘Erm-’ Hank looked alarmed at suddenly being ushered towards Shaw by Creed’s encouraging grip on his shoulder. ‘I – this isn’t – I can’t work like this!’ he sputtered, flailing slightly as he was pushed towards Charles. ‘I – oops – sorry, Charles.’ His hand came to rest on Charles’s forearm.

Charles, however, smiled softly at him and slowly slid his hand into Hank’s, causing him to blink owlishly in surprise.

Frost, meanwhile, was looking highly unimpressed with McCoy’s protests.

‘And what is preventing you from doing your job in this case, Mr. McCoy?’ she asked him, sounding bored. ‘I assure you, you need not fear the Attic.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I doubt you had very much to do with today’s case of trespass and minor rebellion,’ she said, eyeing him unblinkingly. ‘You – well. You’re not really the sort, are you?’

Hank flushed bright red at that and looked away, suddenly unable to meet anyone’s eyes. At this, however, Erik saw Charles give McCoy’s hand a small squeeze as if in encouragement and Hank, seeming to gain some sort of courage from this, raised his head and finally looked straight at Emma. 

‘Logan,’ he said and seemed startled at the strength and clarity of his own voice. ‘I mean – Howlett. I need Mr. Howlett with me. He’s Charles’s Handler,’ he said hurriedly at Shaw’s raised eyebrow. ‘I need him there with me when I load Charles’s Program and calibrate him so that-’

‘Yes, yes,’ Shaw waved his hand impatiently, having received a nod of assurance from Emma. ‘Do whatever you need to do. Just get Charlie back to me _immediately_.’ He took a deep breath and his entire body seemed to vibrate with impatience. ‘I have plans for him and I have waited _far_ too long already.’

The words were ominous and this time Erik saw that it was Hank who squeezed Charles’s hand in support despite the fact that there was no way that Charles understood what was going on.

‘Should we release Howlett then, sir?’ Creed asked with almost sycophantic eagerness, awaiting Shaw’s response. Erik saw Emma frown, her white little nose crinkling in minor irritation.

‘Yes,’ Shaw nodded, eyeing Logan speculatively. ‘Bring him along to the Programming room with the others. And hold on to him – we don’t want him delaying us any further.’

Creed nodded. He paused then, biting his lip and looking between Logan and Hank. His face settling into a grimace, he finally turned to face McCoy.

‘Come on, you,’ he grunted, seizing McCoy by the shoulder and dragging him over. As Charles’s hand was still in Hank’s he was pulled along too. ‘Don’t think that I won’t hurt you because you’re the Programming guy,’ Creed growled, approaching Logan warily. ‘If you even _think_ about doing anyth-’ Charles abruptly came to a halt and, linked as he was to Hank, caused Hank to stumble which in turn caused Creed to cut his sentence off and jerk back in surprise.

All it took was that one millisecond. Before Creed could recover, Logan had lunged forward like a jungle cat, wrapped his thick muscled arms around Creed’s neck and, letting out a roar like a wounded beast, violently wrenched it around with all his might.

There was a sickening _crack_ and then a loud thump as Victor Creed’s mountainous body crumpled to the floor, his eyes unseeing and his head lying at a very odd angle.

There was silence. Nobody moved. The guards, who had initially been distracted by Charles’s sudden stop, were now staring at the dead body of their leader, stunned. Even as they all stood frozen, Logan darted sideways, twisted the gun out of the nearest guardsman’s limp hold and, before anyone could react, had let out a burst of gunfire, cutting down the armed men on either side of him.

Erik didn’t waste time. He immediately swung out at the man on his right and, catching him with a fist to his nose, immediately turned and tackled the man on his left, bowling him over and following him before he could recover. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik could see Raven and Moira do the same. Raven, of course, was at her most vicious, dangerous best and Moira was clearly no slouch in the combat department either, the military training clear in every line of her body. Erik took one more moment to ensure that Charles was safe – Hank had dragged him back and away from the fighting – before he went back to pummelling the unfortunate man beneath him with a grim sort of satisfaction that, he suspected, did not become an officer of the law.

Erik would later admit – and the others would back him up on this – that those few minutes of violence were a complete blur inside his head. It was as if they had all been possessed by some sort of desperation-filled mania borne out of their hatred for Shaw and the primal need to survive. It was because of this, they all agreed, that they completely lost sight of the main target.

That target namely being Charles.

Erik didn’t know what he had been thinking. He had seen Hank drag Charles away from the fight and that had been all the reassurance he had needed before he had returned to brawling with his enemies. Logan, Moira and Raven had, presumably, done the same.

What he couldn’t figure out, however, was what the hell the four of them were thinking in forgetting about Shaw and Frost.

They had all targeted the people nearest to them, which meant that it was the guardsmen who were on the receiving ends of their fists and bullets. For some reason, none of them had considered going for the main people at the head of this whole mess: Sebastian Shaw and Emma Frost. By the time that they had come back to themselves it was already too late.

Hank was flat on his back, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling with a long trail of bright red blood pooling under his nose.

Charles, on the other hand, was being pressed back-to-chest against Shaw’s front with Shaw’s left arm around him and the other –

Erik froze.

Shaw’s other hand held a deadly black pistol, the barrel of which was currently being pressed right up against Charles’s throat.

All Erik could hear was the sound of his heart thundering in his chest and at first he thought that it was due to shock. It was only then, glancing around, that he realised that he wasn’t the only one to have finally cottoned on to the situation. Raven, Moira and Logan had all finally stopped, each surrounded by the bodies of their former guards, all of them now out cold or – as indicated by the fountains of blood surrounding Raven – dead. It seemed that all four of them had realised their error at the same time and Raven had finally paused in her act of destruction only to let out a cry of anguish at seeing her brother held with a gun pressed to his skin.

Shaw, seeing that he had finally got their attention, gave them a slow, sickly smile. Emma, who was standing a few paces off from him, didn’t even twitch when the combined weight of their gazes fell upon her. As far as Erik could tell the woman had not moved an inch during the entire melee. She just stood there, cool as a cucumber, taking it all in as if she were merely an observer of the scene in front of her and not a participant.

‘So,’ Shaw said, and his voice was almost as unctuous as it had been before. ‘It seems that we have come to a bit of an impasse.’ He looked around at the bodies before him. ‘I shall, of course, have to invest in a better set of bodyguards in the future.’ He shrugged. ‘But I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I do, after all, hold the trump card.’ At this he squeezed Charles with his arm, causing Charles’s breath to hitch. ‘Ah,’ Shaw sighed, leaning his forehead against Charles’s hair, ‘isn’t that just the sweetest sound? I’ll be hearing a lot more of that, I should think.’

‘Like hell!’ Raven spat, bristling with anger. The way her eyes darted anxiously over Charles, however, showed that she would probably not do anything too hasty, which Erik was relieved about.

‘Very eloquently put, my dear,’ Shaw cooed, taking a small step back. ‘But I am afraid that I will have to disagree. Don’t worry,’ he said reassuringly as she bared her teeth at him in fury, ‘I have no doubt that we will be able to catch up soon. There’s a space in the Attic with your name on it, you know.’ He then turned to Emma. ‘Are you coming, my dear? I’m sure you’re far too smart to risk your chances with _these_ heathens.’

Emma’s expression tightened. She didn’t say anything but her eyes trailed slowly over the taut expressions of the others in the room. Then, with a sigh, she slowly began to follow Shaw, her expression one of wearied resignation. 

Shaw beamed at her.

‘Excellent,’ he said with a deep sense of satisfaction. ‘I knew you would see sense.’ He moved towards her, tugging Charles along as he did. ‘Here,’ he said, before unceremoniously shoving Charles at her. ‘Much as I enjoy having him pressed up against me there is time enough for that later, wouldn’t you say? Now, you hold him while I make a quick telephone call.’ With that Shaw took a step away, his left hand reaching in his pocket while the other still held the gun, although now it was pointed straight ahead of him, as if daring any of the others to make the first move.

Erik gritted his teeth. He didn’t know what to do. If he moved then he risked getting shot. While he didn’t mind that so much, what he couldn’t risk was Shaw suddenly turning the gun on Charles, which, by the way he was holding the gun, seemed entirely too possible. The others seemed to be sharing the same dilemma as there were identical looks of fear and frustration on their faces. Shaw had been right: they were indeed at an impasse.

In near despair, Erik turned to look at Charles, as if in hopes that his face would give him some sort of inspiration. And then he frowned.

Charles was being held in Emma’s grip which, while relatively gentle, was nevertheless firm. But that was not what had caused Erik to pause. 

Charles was wriggling. Not too conspicuously, it was true, and not enough to dislodge her grip, but he was nevertheless wriggling in Emma’s hold, his usually blank face pulled into a small pucker of concentration. Erik found himself ignoring the call that Shaw was placing on his phone and instead focused on Charles. Charles, who was twisting and appeared to be reaching behind him …

Erik could tell the moment that Charles found what he was looking for, for his face once more smoothened out into its usual look of placid serenity. Emma, who was frowning deeply now, almost unconsciously loosened her grip, allowing Charles to pull his hands back to his front and then turn around.

Erik could not stop the gasp that escaped his lips.

In Charles’s hand was a gun. A gun that – how, Erik had no idea – he seemed to have had stashed somewhere on his body.

And, as Erik watched, unable to believe his eyes, Charles – now facing Emma, whose hands had fallen back against her sides – gave her a soft, shy smile and then slowly held out the gun.

Charles was giving Emma Frost a gun.

Wondering what kind of screwed up Doll-logic was going on in Charles’s pretty little head, Erik had all but decided that he was ready to be a martyr to his cause and go for Shaw’s gun when he saw the look on Emma’s face.

It was not an unusual look by any means. She was simply frowning, her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement as she slowly reached forward and took hold of the gun, bringing it up and weighing it in the palms of her hands. She stared down at the object in her grasp for a long time, her expression strange and quizzical. Then, ever so slowly, she began to look up. Her eyes met Charles’s.

Charles smiled at her, soft and gentle.

The perplexed expression slowly faded from Emma’s eyes. In its stead, a small, wry little smile appeared on her lips. It was a smile of resignation, a smile of acknowledgement.

A smile of acceptance. 

She sighed.

And then, before Erik had the barest chance of registering what was happening, Emma abruptly lifted the gun and, without the slightest flicker of hesitation, she fired.


	37. Aftermath

Emma slowly looked up from the blood-spattered floor, her expression one of grim satisfaction as she gradually lowered the gun to her side.

The others were all staring at her with identical looks of stunned disbelief on their faces but Emma supposed this was only natural. She had, after all, caught even herself by surprise and that was something that happened _very_ rarely indeed. She couldn’t even remember the last time that it had happened. Acting on instinct without the benefit of well-thought-out, carefully-considered options was something of a novelty to her and her actions today had definitely been based more on the former than the latter. Odd, considering that spur-of-the-moment decisions were something that she usually avoided like the plague. She idly wondered whether the event was worthy of a note in her diary.

Not, of course, that she’d ever have _any_ trouble remembering this day at any point in the near future.

Smiling grimly at the thought, she once again allowed her eyes to flick over to the side, to the place where everyone’s attention was now directed.

There, lying impossibly still was the body of Sebastian Shaw, his eyes wide and unseeing and his mouth slightly agape as if in the middle of drawing breath. A copious amount of blood leaked out from the bullet wound in the centre of his chest, slowly seeping through his clothes and forming a steadily-growing dark puddle on the otherwise sparkling white floor.

It was, even to the amateur eye, clear that the shot had been fatal.

Emma had intended it that way.

She deliberately kept her face blank as eyed the results of her handiwork. Her face did not so much as twitch as she looked over the body impassively. ‘My, my,’ she murmured after a moment, her face unreadable even as her eyes remained fixedly on the growing pool of blood around her, ‘Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’

There was a moment’s silence wherein she stared as if transfixed at the body in front of her, a sliver of emotion making itself known in the sudden stillness of her body. Then, with a blink, she straightened up and was once more her usual unperturbed self, with any and all signs of doubt or tentative misgivings banished from her mind.

Her conscience was clear. There was no need to dwell on the matter any further.

Feeling once more completely at ease, she casually turned to the others, raising an eyebrow when she saw that they were still staring at her with looks of mingled wariness and incredulity. 

‘What can I say?’ she asked dryly, regarding them coolly and raising her shoulders in a careless shrug, ‘I never liked him.’

If she expected that brief statement to allay their disbelief then she was sadly disappointed. She sighed at the blank looks on their faces and heroically refrained from rolling her eyes, instead turning her attention on to more important matters. Casting a scrupulous eye down at her clothes, she cursed and let out a low noise of irritation upon seeing several small flecks of red marring the previously ice-white material. ‘Oh for goodness sakes,’ she hissed under her breath, feeling thoroughly annoyed. ‘Sebastian can’t stop ruining things even when he’s _dead_!’

Logan, naturally, decided that this was the best time to speak up.

‘Er-’ he began, his eyes fixed warily upon the gun in her hand. ‘Miss Frost?’ 

Emma forcibly dragged her attention away from her clothes. ‘Yes?’ she bit out, unable to fully tamp down on her irritation just yet.

Logan gestured at the dead body on the ground. ‘Mind explaining that?’ he asked dryly, cocking an eyebrow.

Emma’s jaw tightened and she pursed her lips, mentally counting to ten before answering.

‘I told you,’ she said, her voice deliberately calm, ‘I’ve never liked Shaw.’ Upon receiving nothing but disbelieving looks from the others she tossed her head and let out a loud sniff. ‘The man might have been an extraordinary scientist but he was also a colossal idiot,’ she said scathingly, allowing her lip to curl up at the edges. ‘He was always focusing on himself and his childish need for constant gratification whilst completely ignoring the consequences of his actions.’ Her voice filled with contempt. ‘He cared for nothing but power and for no one other than himself.’

Erik spoke up then, letting out a loud snort of derision. ‘Yeah,’ he said sarcastically, sneering at her, ‘Right. Because the two of you are _so_ different.’

Emma’s eyes immediately narrowed. ‘Sebastian Shaw was a fool,’ she snapped, her voice cold. ‘A _greedy_ fool, whose selfishness threatened the Dollhouse’s very existence! He did not care who he hurt or who his actions affected and I will have you know, _Mr. Lehnsherr_ , that he and I are _nothing_ alike. I have only ever done what was necessary for the House’s survival but believe me, Shaw had no such compunctions!’ There was a pause and Emma didn’t have to look around to know that everyone was listening to her intently. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to suppress the anger that still simmered inside of her. ‘I might have even gone along with it for a while,’ she continued, her voice now soft and even. ‘For much longer than I ought to have, perhaps. But then I remembered something. Something that neither Shaw nor I should ever have forgotten.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Raven asked derisively, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘And what’s that?’

Emma opened her eyes and looked straight at Raven, her gaze unwavering and unflinching and completely full of self-belief.

‘That I am the Director of this Dollhouse,’ her eyes burned with each carefully-enunciated word, ‘and that I am responsible for _everyone_ who is employed under my roof. Everyone,’ she repeated firmly upon seeing the doubtful expressions on the faces of those in front of her, ‘Whether they are a Programmer,’ her eyes landed on Hank, ‘or a Medical Officer,’ she looked at Moira, ‘or a Handler,’ Logan, ‘or – above all – an Active.’ Her eyes finally landed on Charles. She didn’t speak for a moment, seemingly content to simply stare at him, but a minute later her lips slowly twisted into a small, rueful smile. ‘Rather an odd creature, isn’t he?’ she murmured, her voice barely audible even in the pin-drop silence of the atrium. Her eyes bored into Charles’s and it seemed as if she was desperately trying to dig out some secret that he held deep inside him. ‘And yet after everything,’ she continued in a whisper, her expression almost pained, ‘it seems that even I was not fully immune to him after all …’

There was silence. Nobody spoke. It was as if they were all unwilling to break the odd spell that had settled over the company in the wake of Emma’s words. 

The silence did not last for long, however, and Raven was the first to break it.

‘Okay, that’s great and all,’ she said, waving off everything that Emma had said mere moments before in a fit of impatience. ‘Really, it is. But honestly? I don’t give a crap. What I _really_ want to know is – how the _fuck_ did Charles get his hands on a _gun_?’ She folded her arms across her chest and glared quizzically at her brother who merely continued to smile in the same oblivious manner as always.

‘I would like to know that too,’ Erik agreed, throwing a suspicious look around at the others and frowning. ‘He didn’t have it on him before.’

‘And how did he know to give it to Miss Frost?’ Moira added, looking similarly puzzled.

There was a low cough from the side of the room and everyone immediately turned towards Logan, who looked back at them and shrugged.

‘I suppose that I could tell you how the gun got there,’ he said slowly, scratching his cheek. ‘I mean – I should know, since I’m that one that put it there.’ He shrugged at the surprise that this statement elicited. ‘I figured that those goons wouldn’t think to check an Active, see? So I stuck it under Charles’s shirt when they weren’t lookin’ and hoped to hell that no one saw it. Almost gave me a heart attack when Shaw took a hold of him,’ he said gruffly, shaking his head. ‘As for him giving the gun to Frost?’ Logan shrugged. ‘Not a clue. I’m tellin’ ya, the kid’s got a mind of his own.’

‘Doesn’t he just,’ Emma murmured, narrowing her eyes speculatively at Charles in a way that made the others very nervous. ‘It’s hardly the first time he’s …. _acted up_ , after all. It makes one think.’

‘Think what?’ Erik demanded, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes trained on Frost with deep mistrust.

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Well,’ she said coolly, still eyeing Charles. ‘There is obviously an explanation for his behaviour. We just need to find it.’

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘What sort of explanation?’ he growled.

Emma gave an idle shrug, completely ignoring the way that Logan was glaring at her from the right side of the room. ‘We can either chalk Charles’s … _autonomy_ down to whatever depraved experiments Dr. Essex managed to inflict upon him without us being able to identify them,’ she said evenly, ‘or …’

‘Or?’ Raven demanded, her eyes suddenly alight with an odd mixture of rage and fascination.

Emma raised her head to meet Raven’s eyes. ‘Or,’ she said calmly, ‘we can ascribe it to some peculiar component of the Xavier genetic makeup that makes their neurological pathways work differently from ours.’ She raised her eyebrow once more, eyeing Raven speculatively. ‘You and he _do_ share a blood connection, do you not?’

‘Don’t answer that!’ Erik growled, butting in before Raven could reply, although it was quite clear to everyone present that Raven’s response would have been less of an answer to the question and more of an invitation for Emma to _fuck right off_.

‘In any case,’ Emma continued blithely, acting as if Erik had not interfered, ‘The matter calls for a bit more investigation, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Like hell!’ Logan snapped, the roughness of his voice turning his words into a low, feral growl.

Emma merely shrugged. ‘It won’t be _intrusive_ ,’ she said, ‘If that makes you feel any better. Besides, wouldn’t it be better to know once and for all whether or not there are still remnants of Essex’s nasty little fingerprints left on your darling little Active’s psyche?’

There was an awkward silence wherein the others all looked at each other uneasily.

‘No,’ Raven said suddenly. ‘No. Forget it. Charles is getting his own brain back and then we are all getting the _fuck_ out of here, do you understand?’

Emma’s eyes met Raven’s once more but this time there was something wintry in her expression where before there had been nothing but apathy. ‘We shall see,’ she said in an unnervingly even tone before then adding, ‘I suppose it really just depends on what our resident Programmer feels up to.’

At that everyone turned to look at Hank. He had only just clambered to his feet after having been all but knocked out by Shaw’s sudden blow to the head but he didn’t look much better for being upright. His eyes were wide and glassy and his spectacles were still wildly askew on his freely-bleeding nose. Raven made a small noise in the back of her throat at the sight and moved forward to help him but Hank cringed as she approached and quickly stepped aside. His widened eyes and blood-stained face made him look almost unnerving and even Charles was staring at him with the tiniest of puckers in the middle of his forehead.

‘Hank?’ Moira asked tentatively, looking worried.

But Hank didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he started shaking his head, glancing between the lot of them as if he had never seen them before.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head furiously. ‘No. I’m not – I can’t-’ He then swallowed before turning back to Emma and when he spoke his voice came out in a panicked groan. ‘I just – I still don’t get – I … _you killed Shaw_!’ he finished with a moan, looking around him with something like despair. ‘You _killed_ Shaw! And you!’ Hank whirled around, staring wide-eyed at Logan. ‘You killed Mr. Creed! You killed the Dollhouse Head of Security!’

Nobody spoke, unsure of how to handle Hank’s sudden outburst. Emma, on the other hand, pursed her lips and looked away, bored. As far as she was concerned she had already dealt with this matter and she had no intention of going over it again.

Logan glanced around and sighed, as if realising that it was now up to him to reach out and calm McCoy down. He looked at Hank carefully, noting the ragged slump of his shoulders and the wild look in his eyes and he grimaced. He paused for a moment, frowning slightly, and then gave his cheek a thoughtful scratch before speaking.

‘Yeah,’ he said calmly in response to Hank’s accusation, deliberately keeping his tone even and unapologetic. ‘Yeah, I guess I did do that, didn’t I?’ Hank let out a whimper at that, at which Logan raised his shoulders in a shrug of indifference. ‘What can I say?’ he drawled unrepentantly, his eyes flicking coolly over to Emma even as his mouth twisted up in a wry smile. ‘I never liked him.’

The corner of Emma’s mouth twitched.

‘But you can’t-’ Hank was still struggling with this. ‘You can’t just _kill_ people like that. You _can’t_! People will _notice_!’

‘The same way they noticed when Charles and the other went Dolls missing?’ Erik cut in sharply, his tone a mixture of sarcasm and long-held bitterness. ‘The same way they notice when you send someone to the Attic? The way that these people just disappear off the face of the earth and are never seen or heard of again?’

Hank opened his mouth but then quickly snapped it shut, abashed.

Emma, on the other hand, was looking thoughtful.

‘Mr. McCoy here has a point,’ she murmured. ‘Whatever Shaw’s reputation might have been he was still a very powerful man. However well I spin it and however little he was liked, I still need to hand the Board a suitable explanation for his death. Otherwise …’ Emma trailed off, her voice softening. She stood still for a moment, deep in thought. Then she looked down at the gun in her hand. She gripped it tightly for a second, weighing it in her palms. Then she looked up, cocking her head to the side as if she were listening for something, before then turning and staring directly into Raven’s eyes.

‘Catch,’ she said, and tossed the gun at her.

Raven, acting on instinct, reached up and caught the gun before it hit her in the face. She blinked for a moment, looking nonplussed. She glanced blankly down at the gun in her hand and then back up at Emma.

There was a faint noise from somewhere behind them and Emma smiled.

‘Drop it!’ Erik said suddenly, jarring the others out of their confusion, his expression oddly desperate. ‘Raven, quickly – _drop the gun_!’

Raven glanced blankly at him and her grip on the handle of the gun loosened slightly – but it was already too late. She had barely managed to frown at Erik’s words when they were suddenly ambushed from all sides by a slew of men in black uniforms, each of them with a gun in their hands that was raised high and aimed towards them. It appeared that the back-up that Shaw had called for had finally arrived. 

‘Freeze!’ the leader of the band shouted, his gun trained unhesitatingly on Raven. ‘Drop your weapon! I repeat, _drop your weapon_!’

Raven blinked and glanced down at the gun in her hand. Then she glanced around at the others. Slowly, it began to dawn on her that she was the only one that was currently holding a weapon.

‘No,’ she whispered, glancing down at her hands with wide, stricken eyes. ‘No. No fucking way. This can’t – NO!’ she shrieked, her voice suddenly rising to inhuman levels as she rounded on Emma. ‘You _bitch_! You goddamned, conniving _bitch_!’ And before anyone could react she abruptly swung the gun up into the air and pulled the trigger.

There was a click.

Nothing happened.

Emma was standing there, not a hair out of place, with a perfectly equable expression on her face. She had held up her hand when the security men had reacted to Raven’s attempt to fire her gun, forbidding them from retaliating.

‘Oh dear,’ Emma said, her tone kind despite the coldness in her eyes. ‘It looks like you are out of bullets …’

The gun clattered from Raven’s hand and she tottered back.

‘Raven-’ Erik reached out for her but she flinched and pulled away.

‘You can’t do this,’ she hissed, gazing straight at Emma with loathing on her face. ‘You can’t. We all know what happened here – we all know that it was _you_ who-’

‘Arrest her!’ Emma ordered, interrupting Raven before she could say anything more. ‘Don’t let her get away.’

‘No!’ Erik shouted, alarmed, but the squad was already moving forward, approaching Raven with guns raised high.

Raven’s eyes flashed and she turned to Emma, her eyes glittering with hate. ‘You will pay for this,’ she said quietly, ignoring the approaching men in favour of keeping her eyes fixed on Emma. ‘I will find a way to make you pay for this.’

‘Yes,’ Emma said calmly, watching as Raven was slowly surrounded. ‘Yes, I rather expect you will.’ She paused. ‘But not yet.’ She turned her head towards the leader of the security detail and gave him a quick nod.

The men immediately made to move forward, their guns trained unwaveringly on Raven. Raven, however, had no intention of being taken by them. With a snarl of fury, she suddenly lashed out with her foot, catching one of them in the throat before turning and smashing her fist into the face of another. She probably would have been shot then and there if Erik hadn’t suddenly intervened, shoving one of the men aside and then going for the neck of the other. On Raven’s other side, Logan too had started to do the same. Hank and Moira both looked on anxiously but they were too wary of the guns now being trained on them to intervene. 

‘Enough!’ Emma said loudly, looking immensely irritated. ‘You are outnumbered – you will _stand down_!’

But she was ignored and the fighting continued, as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

Just then there was the _crack_ of a gun shot that was immediately followed by a number of shouts and then dead silence as everybody froze and anxiously glanced around them.

‘Who fired?’ Emma demanded, striding forward and looking around the room with narrowed eyes.

Nobody answered.

‘Is anybody hurt?’ Moira asked, the worry in her voice apparent.

Again, there was no answer.

Then –

‘Where’s Raven?’ Erik demanded, his expression suddenly strained and his eyes nearly wild. ‘Where is she? _Raven?_ ’

The others all glanced around. Sure enough, there was no sign of Raven. In the space where she had been there were now only a handful of men lying scattered around the floor while the others surrounded Logan and Erik.

There was an awkward silence.

‘Do you mean to tell me,’ Emma said in a slow and deliberate voice, her tone icy cold as she addressed the security team, ‘that over a dozen of you had your guns pointed straight at the girl and yet not only did you not manage to detain her, but that _not a single one of you_ even managed to witness her _escape_?’

The guards in the room all shuffled uneasily

‘Well whaddya know,’ Logan’s eyebrows had risen and his tone was one of reluctant admiration, ‘Blondie’s a regular Houdini.’

‘Diversionary tactics and escapology were included in a few of her Programs,’ Hank piped up helpfully, his tone earnest. ‘I remember there was this one time where we had to help her get over a dozen hostages out of a ten-storey-’

‘ _Yes_ , Mr. McCoy, that will be _quite_ enough, don’t you think?’ Emma snapped, glaring at Hank and causing him to blush fiercely and stammer out an apology. Emma sighed then and shook her head. ‘Never mind,’ she said in a much calmer tone, bringing up a hand to push back a truant lock of blonde hair. ‘Your point is noted. Mystique _does_ have a very unique skill-set, after all.’ She turned to the leader of the security detail. ‘Call on your reserves,’ she instructed him. ‘Have them spread out through the building and monitor the surroundings. She can’t have gone far.’

‘She got in without your men noticing,’ Erik bit out, looking at Emma with keen dislike. ‘What makes you think that they’ll catch her on her way out?’

‘Security was deliberately relaxed this morning,’ Emma answered coolly, seeming unfazed by Erik’s question. ‘We are once again at our most alert and watchful state. She would have to be really quite ingenious to get out.’

‘Which she is,’ Erik said smugly, raising his chin as if in pride.

‘Not to mention bloodthirsty,’ Logan added, shrugging when Emma turned to face him. ‘You told me yourself that this Mystique chick wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty.’

Emma’s mouth twisted into a grim smile. ‘You are all very convincing,’ she said dryly. ‘I thank you for your input.’ She turned to the security team. ‘Hold them,’ she said, jerking her head towards the others.

Hank let out a squawk of surprise and Erik let out a growl as they were immediately surrounded by the remaining security guards, who were now infinitely more wary of them than before.

‘ _Sonofabitch!_ ’ Logan swore as the barrel of yet another rifle was shoved into his chest, turning to glare at Emma with an expression of resentful fury. ‘Of all the cold-hearted, back-stabbing-’

He was immediately interrupted by Emma, who turned to Logan with a look of ice-cold rage on her face. ‘Let us not go into just _who_ betrayed _whom_ right now, Mr. Howlett,’ she said icily, her hands clenched into fists at her side. ‘I think you will find that you do _not_ come out the better of _that_ particular battle.’ After a moment she took a deep breath, allowing the fury on her face to subside into something a bit calmer before turning to the security men around her. ‘Take him to Meeting Room A,’ she ordered, crossing her arms over her chest and deliberately refusing to meet Logan’s eyes. ‘And keep him contained. I will be speaking to Mr. Howlett in due course.’ She then looked away, unfazed, as Logan let out a series of vile curses as he was grabbed and pulled away from the foyer. 

Emma waited until the sound of Logan’s angry cursing faded from the room before calmly turning her attention towards Erik. ‘Take him to Meeting Room C,’ she ordered, nodding at him. ‘Make sure that he is comfortable. I will be dealing with him shortly.’ She then sighed and glared down at her clothes, where the minutest of blood specks marred the white cloth. ‘I shall, of course, need some time to make myself a bit more presentable first,’ she muttered, ignoring Erik’s struggles to free himself from his captors.

‘You can’t do this!’ Moira yelled furiously as Erik was towed away. ‘This isn’t right, you know exactly what-’

‘Dr. MacTaggart,’ Emma’s voice was cold. ‘You are in more than enough trouble already. I would advise you to keep your mouth shut and pray that you remain on my good side. As for Mr. Lehnsherr and Mr. Howlett – I wouldn’t worry too much about them. Their fates will be decided soon enough.’ She then turned to the nearest two guards and beckoned him over. ‘Take Dr. MacTaggart to the infirmary,’ she ordered the first one briskly. ‘She can start attending to the wounded and the unconscious.’ The man nodded and immediately caught hold of Moira’s arm and began to escort her away. 

Emma then turned to the second man who was dutifully waiting for his instructions. ‘Take Mr. McCoy back to his offices,’ she said coolly, her tone calmer now. ‘And make sure that he stays there.’ She paused for a moment, and then added, ‘But be gentle with him. I have a feeling that we may be in need of his services before the day is out …’

Hank’s face paled at that, his thoughts no doubt immediately going to the Attic. He didn’t get the chance to say anything, however, for by the time he had managed to open his mouth to protest he was already being firmly led away by a heavy-set man with a no-nonsense look about him.

Emma watched as her Programmer was ushered away and escorted up the staircase towards his offices. She waited until his feet had disappeared from view before turning around and casting a critical eye over the floor of the main hall. There were still a few unconscious bodies lying on the ground that had yet to be carted away to the infirmary but this problem was already being taken care of by the remaining men of the security team. 

Shaw’s body was also still lying on the ground, sightless eyes staring upwards and the corners of his mouth still angled up in an unnerving sort of smile as his own blood pooled around him. Emma grimaced at the sight and quickly gave orders for the body to be covered up. She would have to have one of the Actives Programmed as a Pathologist, she mused, silently rearranging her mental list of Things To Do. The Board would expect that, she knew, and she wanted things to go as smoothly as possible where they were concerned. Never mind the fact that she was now a major player herself following Shaw’s death … She hid a smile at that and straightened up, her expression once again serious. There was much for her to do in aftermath of the day’s events. She had done whatever she had felt was best at the time and now she had to deal with the consequences of her actions. She couldn’t risk any slurs to her reputation or questions of her loyalty just now. Not when she was so close …

Her eyes drifted to where Charles was standing at her side, silent and unmoving. She frowned when she saw a trickle of Shaw’s blood beading its way towards his small, bare feet and, grasping him gently by the elbow, pulled him slightly towards her and out of the way of the blood trail. 

Charles blinked at the sudden tug but he came willingly enough. He gave her a vague smile before once again turning away with a dreamy expression on his face. He seemed to be completely serene and Emma felt something ease inside of her upon seeing him that way. He, at least, had been unaffected by the events of the past few hours.

As she continued to watch him, however, Emma felt a strange tug of emotions in her chest. It unsettled her and she quickly looked away, frowning. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that the emotion she was experiencing was guilt. 

_No_ , she rejected the idea almost immediately, shaking her head and lifting her chin decisively. She had no reason to feel guilty. What she had done – what she was _doing_ and what she _planned_ on doing – was only what was necessary. Emma was not without her ambitions, it was true, but she had long ago admitted to herself that personal advancement played only a very small part in her decisions as the Manager and Director of the House. Lesser minds might view her actions as nothing but a power play but then Emma had no time for lesser minds.

Besides, she had better things to worry about. Being a leader wasn’t easy, as she knew all too well, and the next few hours of her leadership would probably be the most crucial and difficult of her career.

Emma’s eyes narrowed. She welcomed the challenge.

Her resolve set, she finally turned around and faced Charles, allowing her expression to subside into a rarely-seen expression of near-tenderness.

‘Come on, Charles,’ she said softly, taking him again by the arm and gently steering him around. ‘It’s time for you to rest.’ It wouldn’t be for long but a few hours of sleep would do him good, she decided.

Charles came willingly, smiling and unhesitating and full of nothing but the most complete trust as he allowed Emma to lead the way.

Emma sighed.

Leading Charles was easy. It was everyone else that was the problem.


	38. Decisions

It was several hours later that the door to Erik’s cell (and it may have been an elegantly decorated meeting room rather than a sparsely-furnished prison chamber but he still couldn’t see it in any other way) finally opened and Emma Frost entered, just as she had promised she would.

‘Mr. Lehnsherr,’ she said crisply as she made her way forward and sat down on the opposite side of the table. ‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting.’

Erik grunted in response but he didn’t say anything, too busy using the time to study Frost as best he could. She had changed her clothes, he noted resentfully, although she was still dressed fully in crisp ice-white just as she had been earlier. She also, he noted with reluctant admiration, appeared to be completely free from all expected signs of fatigue or worry that one usually encountered after getting through a tough and stressful day. God knows that Erik himself probably had a few more worry lines around his eyes following what had happened. Emma, however, looked completely calm and at ease with herself, as if she had just spent the entire day at a luxury spa instead of cleaning up the murder of a very important senior figure and dealing with the betrayals of a good portion of her staff.

Erik gritted his teeth and, keeping a wary eye on her, waited patiently until Frost had made herself comfortable in her seat before finally opening his mouth. 

‘Why am I here?’ he demanded coldly, his tone sharp and unforgiving. Better that they get to the matter directly instead of wasting time on pointless chitchat, he figured.

Emma blinked slowly before giving Erik a placid smile. ‘You are the police officer here, Mr. Lehnsherr,’ she said calmly. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

Erik paused in surprise before narrowing his eyes in understanding. He glared at Frost and clenched his jaw tightly, determinedly biting his tongue to keep himself from speaking.

‘Come now,’ Emma said cajolingly, smiling slightly. ‘I’m sure you know perfectly well what it is that I am talking about. Let’s start with an easy one, shall we – breaking and entering. How much time does that get you?’

Still Erik did not respond.

Emma sighed. ‘Nothing? Well, I suppose I should tell you. Normally, it would get you a slap on the wrist or a fine or a few hours of community service. However,’ and here she gave him a thin, artificial smile, ‘As we at Shaw Industries are a very … _private_ organisation, we take our break-ins _slightly_ more seriously.’ She met Erik’s eyes. ‘Ten years,’ she said bluntly, watching Erik grit his teeth. ‘You get ten years of jail time for breaking into our facility. And that’s if you are lucky.’

Erik couldn’t keep quiet at that, unable to bear the satisfied look on Frost’s face any longer. ‘You seem to be forgetting that I am a _police officer_ ,’ he snarled, baring his teeth angrily at Emma. ‘I am here for a _reason_. Don’t think you can threaten me so easily, Frost – I’m here as part of an official investigation!’

But Emma merely raised an eyebrow, looking completely unfazed. ‘Really?’ she drawled. ‘And I guess you have a warrant for that?’ She paused for a moment but Erik didn’t answer. ‘No? No documentation? No orders? No coordination with your fellow officers?’ Emma tutted and shook her head in mock-disappointment. ‘Dear me, Mr. Lehnsherr … that doesn’t sound very official at all.’

Erik tore his eyes away from Emma’s face with a snarl, trying valiantly to hide his pained grimace. There was nothing he could say in response to that. He had no rebuttal. As much as he hated to admit it, Emma was right: to any disinterested outsider his actions would sound very dubious indeed. 

‘Shall we continue?’ Emma asked pleasantly. ‘I have a whole list to choose from – assault, battery, gross bodily harm, kidnapping-’

‘ _Kidnapping?_ ’ Erik snarled, almost rising from his seat in furious indignation. ‘ _You_ accuse _me_ of kidnapping?!’

Emma didn’t even bat an eyelash. ‘Certainly,’ she said coolly. ‘Everyone at the Dollhouse is here because they _want_ to be here, Mr. Lehnsherr. All of our _employees_ ,’ she stressed the word, ‘signed their _legally binding_ contracts with sound minds and with all of the relevant details known to them.’ She paused then and cocked her head. ‘Remind me again of the circumstances surrounding _your_ retrieval of Charles Xavier?’ she asked sweetly.

Erik glared at her but he could not escape the sudden chill that came over him as her point struck home. Frost was twisting things, he knew, but he was objective enough to realise that solid arguments could be made for all of her accusations against him, from the breaking-and-entering to the kidnapping – and that was before one added the top-shelf lawyers or the patrons-of-the-Dollhouse judges to the equation. He had no trouble whatsoever imagining how the whole charade would play out and every single possibility ended with the same outcome – with Erik being sent to prison and with the Dollhouse carrying on as usual, as if nothing had happened. 

Erik’s insides twisted at the thought and he felt sick. Suddenly didn’t want to hear any more of it.

‘Fine,’ he bit out, unable to keep the bitterness of the words from showing on his face. ‘I understand. You’ve made your point, Frost. I get it.’ His eyes met hers. ‘So either you tell me what you’re getting at _right now_ or get the hell out of my sight.’

Emma frowned, obviously unimpressed by Erik’s ire. ‘Temper, Mr. Lehnsherr,’ she said reproachfully before sitting back in her chair and watching him with a pensive expression. ‘You are right though,’ she said abruptly, straightening in her chair. ‘Enjoyable as it is, I have much better things to do than hold your numerous offences against the Dollhouse over your head. I shall be direct with you.’ She paused. ‘I am here to make you a deal.’

Erik immediately went on his guard. ‘A deal,’ he repeated slowly, suspicious. ‘You want to make me a deal?’

‘Yes,’ Emma nodded once and then paused contemplatively. ‘Well – I say deal. Perhaps “compromise” would be the better word.’ She glanced up and met Erik’s eyes. ‘You see, Mr. Lehnsherr, I want to ask that you forget about everything that happened today. Just erase it from your mind and pretend that it never happened. In fact,’ Emma’s voice was cool. ‘I strongly suggest that you forget _everything_ about the Dollhouse entirely.’

Erik couldn’t say that he hadn’t seen this coming. ‘I see,’ he said evenly, his face revealing nothing. ‘And if I refuse?’

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that really very likely to happen?’ she asked lightly.

Erik gritted his teeth. ‘Just answer the damn question, Frost,’ he snapped.

Emma sighed and glanced down at her nails. ‘Well,’ she murmured, her tone dry, ‘I suppose that you could always choose prison …’

Ah, Erik thought with an incongruous surge of vicious satisfaction. And there it was.

‘So it’s a threat?’ he sneered, his lip curling upwards in disgust. ‘Do as you ask or get thrown in jail? Or maybe even the Attic? ’ His fists tightened. ‘Is that what this is, Frost?’

Emma cocked an eyebrow. ‘Is that what you think?’ she asked coolly. At Erik’s glare she let out a sigh. ‘No,’ she said quietly after a moment, closing her eyes and shaking her head. ‘That is not what this is, Mr. Lehnsherr. Sebastian, perhaps, would have made you that deal but then he always was rather vulgar. Threats, you see, were _his_ weapon of choice.’ She looked Erik straight in the eye, ‘I, on the other hand, prefer to catch my flies with honey rather than vinegar.’

‘What are you saying?’ Erik asked warily.

‘What I am saying, Mr. Lehnsherr,’ Emma said, slowly leaning forward and setting her elbows on the table while lacing her hands together, ‘Is that you need not fear any reprisals from me. I will not be prosecuting you no matter what you choose. After all, I do not desire your punishment,’ she paused, ‘I desire your _cooperation_. Tell me,’ she said pleasantly, ‘what can I do to persuade you to do as I ask?’

Erik immediately leaned back, his lip curling. ‘So _that’s_ what you are doing,’ he said, letting out a derisive snort. ‘You’re not trying to threaten me. You’re trying to _bribe_ me.’

If he expected Emma to be discomfited by the bluntness of his accusation then he would have been disappointed.

‘Well yes,’ Emma replied simply, shrugging her shoulders. ‘If that is what it takes, then yes – I _am_ bribing you.’

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then I’m afraid you have the wrong man,’ he said harshly, injecting a measure of steel into his voice. ‘Because I do _not_ take bribes and I do _not_ make deals with criminals. You can save your words, Frost – I don’t need to hear them.’ He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, glaring at her. It was clear that, as far as he was concerned, their conversation was over.

Emma, however, didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘You’re sure about that?’ she asked, her tone light.

Erik jerked his head downwards in a firm nod but Emma did not look convinced. 

‘So,’ she said slowly. ‘What you are saying is that there is absolutely nothing that I can offer you that will make you keep quiet?’

Erik opened his mouth, the words _you’re damn right there isn’t_ on the very tip of his tongue, when he suddenly paused. ‘What exactly are you offering?’ he asked slowly, his eyes fixed carefully on Emma’s face.

Emma smiled. ‘Whatever you want,’ she said easily, not quite able to hide the burgeoning expression of smugness on her face. ‘Absolutely anything that your heart desires.’

Erik didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Charles,’ he said immediately, gripping the edge of the table tightly. ‘I want Charles.’

‘Hmm,’ Emma didn’t appear to be all that surprised by his request. ‘For the night?’ she asked innocently.

The growl that Erik let out then was almost animalistic. 

‘I want Charles _out_ ,’ he snarled, spreading his hands flat on the surface of the table and leaning forward. ‘I want his memories put back in his head and I want him out of this place. _Immediately._ ’

‘Ah,’ Emma’s expression lost its slyness and morphed into something graver. ‘Yes, I rather thought you might ask for that. I am afraid, however, that this is the one thing that we cannot give you. You see,’ she paused and met Erik’s eyes carefully, as if silently warning him to control his temper, ‘Charles still has a little less than two years left on his contract and – while I personally would hand him over to you in a heartbeat – I am afraid that to do so would raise alarms. Charles hasn’t gone unnoticed, you know,’ she said, and there was no sarcasm or affectation in her manner, only a straightforward grimness to her tone that was reflected in the stiff manner in which she held herself, ‘He has consistently been one of our top Actives both in terms of financial return and customer satisfaction – he is requested far more than any other Active in the House, I believe, and his contracts generally veer more towards the long-term than the short-term – and he is favoured by a great many wealthy and influential people who could otherwise be quite troublesome to placate …’ She paused for a moment. ‘Not to mention the fact that Sebastian’s little crush on him went _far_ from unnoticed.’ Her tone was dry. ‘No, I’m afraid that Charles has drawn far too much attention, Mr. Lehnsherr. To set him loose would not only undermine my position as Director of the House but it would also be of no use whatsoever – the moment they realised that I had released him they would have a team sent after him. He would barely have time to set foot through his own door before he would be taken and returned to the Dollhouse to serve out the rest of his contract.’

Erik’s hands were gripped tightly around the edge of the table, his fingers almost bloodless as he listened to Emma’s words. ‘What if we left?’ he demanded, trying not to show his agitation. ‘If Charles and I left – if we went away to – to _Germany_ or somewhere? Somewhere far away?’

‘Then they would find him there,’ Emma answered calmly, her tone level. ‘And he would either be returned here or be placed into the German Dollhouse. You, on the other hand, would be shot.’

But Erik missed that last sentence, fixated as he was upon the one before it.

‘The _German_ Dollhouse?’ he demanded, unable to hide the strain in his voice. ‘Are you saying that – that there’s a Dollhouse in _Germany_?’

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes,’ she said sardonically, ‘And one in France and in Britain and Greece and Russia and Italy and … well, honestly, Mr. Lehnsherr, I could probably save more time naming places where there _aren’t_ Houses.’

Erik had slumped back into his seat, his face pale and his palms suddenly sweaty. ‘Then it’s no use,’ he muttered, looking uncharacteristically shaken. ‘They’re everywhere. There are too many, how can …’ but he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Emma was watching him, looking unusually sympathetic. ‘I know,’ she said quietly, and when Erik looked up at her he saw that she did indeed seem to understand just what he was feeling at that moment. ‘I understand. It seems impossible, does it not? To fight against something so huge and so powerful from the outside …’ She allowed her words to trail off but something in her tone made Erik frown and sit up, suddenly on his guard.

‘Are you-’ he started but Emma suddenly looked bored.

‘My time is running out, Mr. Lehnsherr,’ she said coldly, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall and folding her hands together. ‘You must make your choice. If you cannot have Charles released from here then what is it that you want? Or will you decline my offer?’

Erik sucked in a breath, holding it deep inside his lungs as his mind raced. He knew even without having to think on it that he would take Emma’s offer. He very much wanted to believe that the choice was a difficult one but in truth it was not. A few minutes ago he would have happily thrown the offer back in Emma’s face but now … He sighed bitterly and shook his head. Now he was beginning to realise just how impossible the task was that he had set for himself. He had finally begun to comprehend just how far the influence of the Dollhouse actually reached. 

He was just one man, he reasoned. There was nothing that he could do – not by himself and probably not even as a detective. He had been able to rely on his job and his department thus far but he doubted that the police investigation into the Dollhouse would last for very much longer. He had not missed Emma’s earlier reference to the Dollhouse having many rich and influential clients, and there were doubtless powerful figures among them who could see to it that Erik’s investigation was not only crushed but buried deep enough that it would never be opened again. 

It was much better for him to take the deal, Erik told himself even whilst trying to ignore the dual sensations of anger and despair that were currently burrowing into his gut. It made sense. He had done his duty. He had tried his best and he had failed. Maybe later he would be able to work up the strength and courage to try again but for now … for now it was over. At least this way, he figured, he could leave with _something_ to make it all worthwhile … 

He allowed his mind to wander, considering. There was so much potentially within his grasp – the Dollhouse was very rich and very powerful and was all but unhindered by normal limitations, whether legal or ethical. There were so many things that he could choose, so many things that he could learn, so many things that he could ask for … Not least, the dark side of his brain whispered insidiously, the chance to finally be with Charles the way he had dreamed about for so long and with such little hope …

Erik stamped down on that line of thought at once, immediately disgusted with himself. He was better than the bastards that frequented the Dollhouse, he swore inwardly, and he would never do what they did. He had come here to rescue Charles, not abuse him. He would not betray the victims of the Dollhouse in such a way – not Charles, not any of them.

Even as he promised himself this, an image of a face appeared in his head, cutting through the fog of his anger and despondency and looming large in his mind’s eye. And suddenly Erik knew what it was that he was going to ask for.

‘Magda,’ he said firmly, lifting his chin and staring Emma straight in the eye. ‘I want Magda. I want her to be set free and never bothered again. That’s my price. Give Magda her freedom and you will never hear from me again.’ His mouth snapped shut and he clenched his jaw, staring at Emma as if daring her to refuse him.

Emma was frowning. ‘Magda,’ she repeated slowly. After a moment recognition dawned in her eyes. ‘Ah, I believe you mean Gypsy. Yes,’ she said slowly, looking thoughtful, ‘Yes, I believe that I might be able to arrange that … yes, I think that will do very well indeed …’

Erik’s heart began to thump loudly. ‘So we have a deal?’ he demanded, holding himself stiffly and not looking away from Emma’s eyes. ‘I agree to keep my mouth shut and Magda goes free? That’s it?’

Emma did not answer immediately.

‘Well?’ Erik snapped, feeling strangely agitated.

‘Well,’ Emma said slowly, glancing down at her nails. ‘That could certainly be it if that’s what you really want …’

‘It is,’ Erik said quickly.

Emma gave him a reproving look. ‘I wouldn’t be too quick to answer, Mr. Lehnsherr – you haven’t even heard what I am going to say next.’

‘I doubt anything you say will make me change my mind,’ Erik scoffed, folding his arms and watching Emma with wary eyes.

Emma’s eyes glinted at that. ‘Oh?’ she asked innocently, again glancing down at her nails. ‘Not even if I were to offer you the chance to speak to Charles Xavier? The _real_ Charles Xavier?’

Erik stared at her. ‘What?’ he asked flatly.

Emma smiled. ‘Well,’ she said carefully. ‘You did say that you wanted to see Charles … or was I wrong to think so?’

There was silence. 

‘You weren’t wrong,’ Erik said stiffly, speaking through tightly-clenched teeth.

‘Yes, I thought not,’ Emma said dryly, a degree of amusement clearly audible in her voice. She shook out her coiffed blonde hair and gave Erik a look. ‘I can have him here in the same room as you within the hour, if you so wish.’

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘And why would you do that?’ he demanded, trying to ignore the rapid thump of his pulse. ‘And don’t try to tell me it’s out of the goodness of your heart, Frost. We both know better than that.’

Emma looked almost insulted by the very suggestion. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said primly, letting out a loud sniff and lifting her chin. ‘Of course that’s not why I am doing this. That would be absurd.’ She glanced at him. ‘As no doubt you have already guessed, I am doing this simply because I expect you to do something for me in return. A trade, if you will.’

Erik raised an eyebrow, intrigued in spite of himself. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes,’ Emma gave him a thin, humourless smile. ‘You see, Mr. Lehnsherr, I would very much like for you to join us. Here, I mean. At the Dollhouse.’

There was an immediate silence. It lasted long enough for the atmosphere to become distinctly uncomfortable before Erik finally spoke.

‘For your sake, Miss Frost, I hope you are joking,’ Erik’s voice was quiet but when he looked at Emma his eyes were burning with violent anger and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the knuckles white with tension, ‘Because if after everything you think for one miserable _second_ that I would agree to be a fucking _Doll_ -’

‘I did not say that you would be a Doll,’ Emma said coldly, interrupting him. She sniffed and removed a delicate blonde curl from her face before continuing on in a more sedate manner. ‘I was thinking more on the lines of you being part of the security team,’ she said, eyeing him meditatively. ‘A Handler, to be precise. _Charles’s_ Handler, maybe. If you’re good.’

Erik stared at her with a mixture of suspicion and mute disbelief. Emma stared back, waiting.

After a moment Erik blinked and shook his head, attempting to clear it. ‘What about Howlett?’ he asked finally, unable to think of anything else to say. ‘I thought that he was Charles’s Handler.’

Emma’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll be dealing with Mr. Howlett soon enough,’ she said coolly, her eyes fixed on Erik’s. ‘But right now my focus is on you, Mr. Lehnsherr.’ She glanced down at her watch and made a small, thoughtful noise. ‘You will have to make your decision quickly, I’m afraid,’ she said, not quite apologetic. ‘I have several important matters to attend to, you know, now that poor dear Sebastian is dead.’

Erik suppressed the sarcastic response that immediately leapt to the tip of his tongue and shook his head instead. ‘I need more time than this,’ he said tightly, not entirely surprised to find that he was actually considering the offer. It was for _Charles_ , after all. ‘You cannot ask me to make this decision so quickly. Not on something like this.’

Emma arched an eyebrow. ‘Why not?’ she asked idly, tracing out a pattern on the tabletop with her index finger. ‘I’ve asked people to make bigger decisions than this in much less time than I’ve given you. They all seem to have managed well enough.’

‘ _Bullshit_ ,’ Erik snarled, leaning forward over the table and all but growling at Emma in sudden anger. ‘ _“They all managed well enough”?_ They were pushed into a corner and you know it. That isn’t free will, it is _duress_. Is this how you do business, Frost? With coercion and force?’

A flicker of expression crossed Emma’s face but she didn’t say anything.

Erik let out a harsh laugh. ‘You think you know me,’ he said contemptuously, allowing his lip to curl. ‘You think you have me all figured out but really you don’t know a damn thing. And then you have the _nerve_ to think that you can dangle Charles in front of my face like that and ask me to sign away my future just for a chance to _speak_ to him?’ He shook his head, revulsion clear on his face. ‘No,’ he said firmly, gazing at Emma with disdain. ‘You either overestimate the strength of my feelings for Charles or you underestimate just how much satisfaction I will find in grinding your house of horrors into the dust.’ He lifted his head and met Emma’s eyes square on. ‘No deal,’ he said firmly before turning his head away in unfettered disgust.

Emma did not speak. She had sat stock-still throughout his entire diatribe, as if she had been frozen in place by the force of his wrath. She remained silent for a moment longer after he had ended but then she turned to him and raised an eyebrow. ‘So you refuse, then?’ she asked dryly.

Erik clenched his jaw and levelled a venomous glare at her but Emma merely stared back impassively. After a moment, however, she looked away and sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

‘You are right,’ she said quietly, her head bowed in an acknowledgement of regret. ‘That was … badly done of me. Very badly done.’ She smiled wryly. ‘That, I am afraid, was a remnant of Sebastian’s way of running things. Bad habits really are the hardest to shake off, aren’t they?’ She let out a sigh before pinching the bridge of her nose and finally straightening her shoulders. ‘I suppose that if I really want to rid this place of his shadow and change things for the better then I should do it right from the start.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Fine then,’ she said, drawing herself up proudly and looking straight into Erik’s eyes. ‘I withdraw my condition. You may see Charles.’

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘With no conditions?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘With no conditions,’ Emma confirmed.

‘I don’t have to join you?’

‘No,’ Emma said coolly. ‘You don’t.’

Erik frowned in thought.

‘However …’

_Aha_ , Erik thought savagely.

‘ _However_ ,’ Emma repeated in a quiet, even tone, ‘I shall make you an offer of employment one more time after you have seen Charles. Whether or not you accept then is up to you.’

‘Oh really?’ Erik asked sceptically, unable to keep from sneering. ‘So you’re saying that I can just see him and then – what? – walk straight out of here?’

‘That is exactly what I am saying,’ Emma’s face was solemn and somehow – _somehow_ – Erik found himself believing her in spite of himself. ‘There are no strings attached here, Mr. Lehnsherr. Everyone who works at the Dollhouse chooses to do so of their own free will. Granted,’ and here she grimaced, ‘some of our methods of persuasion can be somewhat … _dubious_ in nature, but we nevertheless try our best to make the process as transparent and straightforward as possible.’ She met Erik’s eyes and her tone when she next spoke was soft. ‘I want you to be here because you want to be here, Mr. Lehnsherr. Not because you are forced to be.’

‘Hmm,’ Erik was watching her with a frown. ‘And you think that ten minutes of speaking to Charles Xavier will be enough to change my mind?’

Emma’s lips pulled upwards in a slow, secretive smile.

‘Let’s just say that I am a great believer in Charles’s ability to do the unexpected,’ she murmured, before slowly rising from her chair. ‘And – since I am already in the middle of an unexpected bout of kindness – I’ll be generous with you: I’ll let you see him for _twenty_ minutes.’

And with that she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Erik staring after her.


	39. Meet Charles Xavier

One minute Charles was sat in the Chair with his eyes closed tight in nervous anticipation and then the next thing he knew he was abruptly blinking into awareness, his mind suddenly bright and alert and _awake_ in a way that it hadn’t been mere moments ago.

_Adrenaline_ , Charles mentally diagnosed the sensation, feeling strangely removed from the world around him, _Adrenaline brought on by the fear of what is -_

Before he could finish the thought he was overtaken by a sudden wave of dizziness that had him blanching and he quickly shut his eyes, squeezing them tightly until the feeling subsided. Only when he was sure that the attack had passed did he open his eyes again, gazing up blankly at the white ceiling above him while trying to steady the rapid beating of his heart. He lay there for a while, taking deep, calm breaths and allowing his thoughts to drift. Then, feeling strangely cautious, he gripped the sides of the Chair and slowly levered himself upwards in his seat.

It was with some trepidation that he turned and began to look around him, although he couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause for his anxiety. Before he could take in much more than the wall in front of him, however, he caught sight of the figure that was standing at the side of the room and regarding him with a contemplative stare.

‘Oh,’ Charles stammered, blinking stupidly and finding himself strangely embarrassed. ‘I’m so sorry – did I fall asleep?’

The woman – Emma Frost, he recalled belatedly – did not speak straight away but continued to watch him with an odd, speculative sort of expression. After a moment she tilted her head to the side and regarded him evenly. ‘No, Charles,’ she said coolly, watching as he dazedly blinked his eyes. ‘You did not fall asleep.’

Charles frowned, his forehead creasing as he considered these words. He stared fixedly at Emma’s calm and patient face for a moment, feeling as if he was missing something important. Then his eyes suddenly widened and he jerked up in his seat and he stared at Frost in stunned disbelief.

‘You-’ he tried but he couldn’t get any further than that before his stomach suddenly twisted and he felt an unexpected surge of nausea.

Emma, whose eyes had narrowed at Charles’s sudden pallor, quickly stepped forward and took a firm hold of his wrist. ‘Calm yourself, Mr. Xavier,’ she said quietly, holding her fingers to his pulse with a gentleness that belied the strength of her grip. ‘There is nothing to be worried about. You need to keep calm.’

‘I-’ Charles gasped weakly, vaguely surprised to find himself breathing as if on the verge of a panic attack. ‘Is it – Has it been five years already?’

Emma’s brow furrowed and she pursed her lips. ‘No, not quite,’ she said after a moment, frowning down at her hand on Charles’s wrist before finally removing it. ‘You still have almost two years left on your contract, Mr. Xavier.’

Charles stared at her dumbly before dropping back into the Chair, feeling ever so slightly overwhelmed. Emma tactfully did not speak, instead allowing him time to recover by discreetly directing her gaze to somewhere on the other side of the wall, something that Charles was reluctantly grateful for. 

When at last he felt able to converse he pushed himself upright on the seat and, bravely suppressing the numerous emotions that threatened to swamp him, cleared his throat apprehensively.

‘I thought-’ there was a catch in his voice just then and he was forced to start over. ‘I thought that you didn’t wake people up in the middle of their – their time here. If that’s – if I still have time left on my contract then … why am I awake?’ His eyes suddenly widened and he reached forward and grasped hold of Emma’s arm. ‘Is it Raven?’ he asked urgently, gazing straight into Emma’s eyes and scrutinising her for the slightest glimpse of an answer. ‘Has something happened to her?’

Emma just stared down at the hand on her arm until Charles mastered himself and pulled away. Once her arm was free she relaxed but when she turned to look at Charles there was a solemn expression on her face.

‘You are right,’ she said in a calm tone, not moving her eyes away from Charles’s. ‘We do not usually wake our employees in the middle of their contracts. And no,’ she added before he could open his mouth again, ‘this has nothing to do with your sister.’ Emma paused before continuing on in a quieter voice. ‘What I am doing now is considered highly unorthodox even by Dollhouse standards and is probably unethical in about a hundred different ways but I am afraid that it is necessary. You are, after all, at the heart of this problem.’ Her mouth twisted into a wry smile as she glanced over at Charles. ‘You may not have realised it, Mr. Xavier, but you have been the source of many a trouble for us during these last few months.’

Charles swallowed. ‘Am I supposed to apologise for that?’ he asked tightly. His tone was forcedly pleasant and it did nothing to disguise the tension in his voice but he nevertheless met Emma’s gaze with an unfaltering one of his own.

Emma smiled. ‘Of course not,’ she said, shaking her head. Her smile then rapidly faded and her expression turned grim. ‘You do need to understand, however, that these troubles cannot be left unresolved. To do so would be disastrous. It is in everybody’s best interests that they be dealt with as quickly and as effectively as possible.’ She met Charles’s eyes once more and Charles was surprised to see the tiniest flicker of regret there. ‘It is for this reason that I found it necessary to awaken you before your time was up. I apologise for it – I really do. If there had been any other way to ensure a successful resolution to this matter then you can be sure that I would have taken it, but as it is, I-’

‘Miss Frost,’ Charles interrupted her, his voice unexpectedly gentle despite the combination of impatience and wary concern in his eyes. ‘Perhaps you should just tell me directly – why did you wake me? Why am I here?’

Emma paused and then grimaced. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Of course.’ She frowned in thought for a moment before her face smoothened out to its usual blank perfection. When she next turned to address Charles, however, her expression was laden with deliberate graveness. ‘A lot has happened in the past year,’ she said quietly. ‘More, perhaps then I have time to tell you.’ 

Charles frowned but this time he did not interrupt.

Emma sighed. ‘Perhaps one day you will find out just what happened if you really care to know of it, but right now …’ She shook her head. ‘Right now we have precious little time and the less of that which is spent on idle chatter the better. But as for the question you asked me – the reason why you are here?’ She looked up into Charles’s serious blue eyes and her mouth twisted into a rueful little smile. ‘I am afraid that it is very simple. You see,’ her eyes fixed on him, cool and calm and unblinking. ‘I am in need of your help, Mr. Xavier.’

*****

Erik did not know what he had been imagining would happen when the door to his cell next opened but the very last thing that he’d expected was for Emma Frost to keep her word.

‘Charles,’ he breathed, almost unable to believe his eyes as the Active was ushered into the room ahead of Frost. After a moment Erik reluctantly pulled his eyes away from him and turned a wary gaze on Emma, who had taken just one tiny step into the room before pausing on the threshold.

Upon seeing that she had his attention Emma gave him a nod. ‘As you requested,’ she said dryly, inclining her head towards Charles before taking one step back out of the room. ‘You have twenty minutes.’ 

She then turned on her heel and the door was shut fast behind her.

Erik’s eyes immediately returned to Charles, eager to take in every inch of him now that they were alone, only to see that Charles was staring right back at him. And this time, Erik realised with a sudden thrill of almost fearful anticipation, there was a distinct intelligence behind those startling blue eyes, completely unlike the pleasant vagueness that he had seen in the Active’s gaze just that morning. He eyed Charles warily, his mouth suddenly dry, wondering what he should do … what he should _say_ –

And then Charles spoke.

‘Hello,’ he said awkwardly, giving Erik a brief, uncertain smile and raising his hand in a hesitant wave.

Erik stared. He followed the gesture with what was probably an undue degree of fascination but for some reason he found himself completely unable to respond. His mouth felt like it was glued shut and his heart was going a mile a minute, beating fast inside of his chest in a manner that might have been worrying if he wasn’t so focused on the man in front of him. All he could do was stare and so that was what he did, watching Charles in total silence.

For some reason Charles didn’t seem to find this very reassuring. ‘Er,’ he fidgeted, frowning when Erik’s gaze did not waver. ‘Mr. Lehnsherr?’ But there was no answer. He sighed at the distinct lack of a response and looked down at his feet, apparently confused by the Erik’s reserve. As the silence went on, however, he began to look slightly concerned and it was this expression of worry that finally brought Erik to his senses.

He blinked the dazed awe out of his eyes and then turned a cautious eye on the man in front of him. A significant part of him wanted to keep on staring or do something completely inappropriate like leap forward and seize Charles by the arms but the other steadier, more suspicious part of his brain knew that he ought not to do anything so foolish just yet. Not when he knew so much about the sly and deceitful ways of the Dollhouse and its manipulative, cold-hearted proprietor.

Steeling himself, Erik gritted his teeth and looked over at Charles with a grim and unforgiving expression. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded in a hoarse voice, consciously gripping his hands tightly at his sides so that he didn’t try to involuntarily reach out to the man in front of him.

Charles seemed to start at that and a look of almost incongruous embarrassment crossed his face, turning his cheeks slightly pink. Erik was, despite his best efforts, reluctantly charmed.

‘Sorry,’ Charles started forward apologetically before abruptly stopping and fidgeting. ‘I probably ought to have started by introducing myself. I just thought-’ He quickly shook his head and held out his hand instead. ‘I’m Charles Xavier. Professor Charles Xavier, really – except maybe not now, I suppose … But Charles. Call me Charles.’

Erik stared at the pale hand that was being offered to him before slowly reaching out and grasping it, staring as the two of them shook hands.

‘I – I’m Erik,’ he said after a moment, still feeling blindsided. ‘Erik Lehnsherr. I-’ He shook his head. He had to stay on track. He couldn’t allow himself to be lured into a false sense of security – which, he was quickly realising, was all too easy around Charles. He needed to stay focused and not get distracted. He needed to know that this was Charles – the _real_ Charles – and not just some amalgamation of numerous personalities that had been cooked up in the Programming Room of the Dollhouse for his benefit. ‘What’s the name of your sister?’ he demanded abruptly, catching Charles by surprise.

‘My sister?’ Charles’s eyes were wide and he stared at Erik. ‘What’s my sister got to do with this? Raven,’ he then answered, eyeing Erik warily, ‘Her name is Raven. Raven Darkholme.’

Erik nodded thoughtfully but his mind was racing. That question had been far too simple. The Dollhouse had already known about Raven and Charles’s relationship and it would have been all too easy for them to input that information into whatever Personality they might have uploaded into Charles’s brain. He had to try something harder … something that no one at the Dollhouse would have known …

‘Raven,’ he found himself barking out, determinedly avoiding the look of wide-eyed surprise that Charles was aiming at him. ‘How does she like her tea?’ 

Charles blinked. ‘Her _tea_?’ he looked baffled and Erik suppressed an internal wince at how ridiculous he probably looked to Charles right now. ‘Her – but Raven doesn’t even like tea! She likes one of those ridiculous frothy coffee drinks with too much sugar in them. Why are you asking me this?’

Erik gritted his teeth. The answer had been correct but that might have been just a fluke. He needed another question. Just one more question.

‘There was something that you used to read to her when she was younger,’ he said quietly, watching Charles with careful eyes. ‘A book that you used to read out loud to her in the evenings when the two of you were alone. What is it?’ Raven had told him this once in passing and he had for some reason treasured this small detail, fondly imagining it within his head and smiling over it when no one could see him. The answer to his question was, he felt, something that no Programmer could have known to include in their work and, being an intimate memory, it was nothing that could have slipped out in casual conversation either. He smiled grimly. He would soon find out once and for all whether the person in front of him was really Charles Xavier or whether it was merely a rough facsimile.

Charles seemed to have caught on to this and he was now looking at Erik with inquisitive eyes.

‘Is this some sort of test?’ he asked curiously, his expression considering. ‘A way of checking that it’s really me in here and not somebody else?’ He didn’t wait for an answer but instead hummed thoughtfully to himself. ‘But then if it were, your checking my responses would depend upon your already knowing the answers to your questions which implies some sort of relationship between you and I …’ He paused then and Erik felt his heart pit-patter in his chest as Charles’s blue eyes met his. ‘Which means … do you know my sister?’

Erik swallowed. ‘Answer my question,’ he persisted unwaveringly before adding a small, quiet, ‘Please.’

The ‘please’ seemed to convince Charles for his expression softened and he let out a sigh.

‘ _The Once and Future King_ ,’ he said quietly, his hands pressed deep inside his pockets as he looked straight at Erik. ‘That’s the book that I used to read to Raven when we were younger. That’s the book I always chose.’ He smiled then, his lips twitching wryly. ‘Did I pass the test?’

Erik felt himself sink down in his seat, suddenly feeling floored.

‘Yes,’ he muttered dumbly, lifting his eyes to Charles and finding himself unable to look away. ‘Top marks.’

Charles chuckled at that before a wary, almost hesitant expression crossed his face once more.

‘May I?’ he asked, indicating the chair opposite Erik’s on the other side of the table.

Erik at once leapt to his feet. ‘Oh,’ he said, feeling rather dull and stupid. ‘Yes. Of course.’

Charles gave him a brief smile and quickly sat down. After a moment’s hesitation, Erik followed suit.

‘So,’ Charles said after a moment.

Erik opened his mouth but nothing came out. His mind was blank. He could almost laugh at the sheer stupidity of it – after all the time he had waited and after all the things that he had ever imagined that he would say once he was face to face with Charles Xavier, naturally he went and got tongue-tied at the very first opportunity.

Charles seemed to take pity on him for he smiled kindly and attempted to start the conversation. ‘Miss Frost told me about you,’ he said cautiously, looking down at his hands even as Erik went completely still. ‘She said – she said that you have been looking for me?’

Erik swallowed and gave him a quick nod. ‘Yes,’ he said shortly before realising that a monosyllabic response was perhaps not the best way to further conversation. ‘I’ve been on the trail of the Dollhouse for a long while.’ He paused. ‘I picked up your trail shortly before I met Raven.’

Charles’s face immediately clouded over with longing and affection and Erik felt his heart clench painfully within his chest at the sight.

‘Raven,’ Charles breathed wistfully, his expression inexplicably sad. ‘How is she? Is she all right?’

Erik gave Charles a sharp glance. The fact that he was asking was evidence that Emma had been less than forthcoming when telling Charles about that part of the story. He didn’t know why he was so surprised – he had always known that Frost was a cold, manipulative piece of work.

‘Raven -’ he started grimly but before he had gone much further than her name he made the mistake of looking into Charles’s eager blue eyes. His resolve almost immediately crumbled. ‘Raven’s fine,’ he finished lamely, forcing himself to smile in order to allay Charles’s suspicions. ‘She’s angry and impatient but she’s otherwise fine.’

Charles smiled at that and finally leaned back in his seat, looking relieved. ‘I’m glad,’ he said after a moment. ‘I was so very worried … She doesn’t take things well, you know. She’s passionate and volatile and once she gets an idea in her head …’ He sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly, the brightness in his eyes suddenly dimming. ‘I can’t imagine how angry she must have been after she found out what I had done,’ he said quietly, looking down at his hands. ‘She must have really hated me for that. Probably still does.’

‘She doesn’t hate you,’ Erik hastened to assure him before pausing to choose his words carefully. ‘She’s angry, yes, and it’s possible that you’re going to have to spend a very long time making it up to her but don’t think for a second that she wants anything more than for you to be safe and at home with her.’ _As do I_ , a small and pathetic part of him whispered inside his head.

Charles was looking at him gratefully. ‘Thank you,’ he said, looking at Erik with an expression full of earnestness and innocent gratitude. ‘Thank you – for everything. For taking care of Raven and trying to find me – I honest cannot thank you enough.’

Erik felt his cheeks heat up in a way that had not happened since his mother had been alive. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said gruffly as he stared down at his hands, unable to meet Charles’s eyes. ‘It’s – I mean, it’s my job, so I can’t exactly say that I went completely out of my way …’

But Charles was still regarding him with a fond, gentle smile. ‘You have been very kind to me,’ he said warmly, reaching across the table and putting his hand over Erik’s, effectively silencing Erik for a few moments as he marvelled at the feeling of Charles’s hand over his own, ‘And you should never doubt that I will be forever grateful to you for everything that you have done both for me and for my sister …’ He paused then and bit his lip before continuing. ‘But I am afraid that I have to ask even more from you, my friend.’

Erik immediately straightened up in his seat. ‘What do you need me to do?’ he asked at once, his tone resolute.

Charles looked at him for a moment before grimacing and looking down at his lap. When he looked up again his expression was full of kindness and understanding and he squeezed Erik’s hand with his own.

‘Erik,’ he said gently, and Erik could not help but feel thrilled at hearing his own name on Charles’s lips, ‘Erik, I know that this will be difficult for you but I need you to do as I ask.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Erik, I need you to give up your crusade against the Dollhouse and forget about me.’

Erik froze. ‘No,’ he said.

‘Erik-’ Charles began but Erik was already speaking.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘No, this isn’t right. You – you are not Charles. Not really. Frost must have done something – she must have altered your brain somehow. Otherwise you wouldn’t ask me this. I _know_ you wouldn’t ask me this.’

Charles was watching him with a sad expression on his face. ‘How would you know that, Erik?’ he asked him patiently.

Erik shook his head. ‘I would just know,’ he said decisively, full of self-belief.

Charles stared at him, his gaze troubled. ‘But my friend,’ he said gently, leaning forward. ‘You do not _know_ me.’

Erik felt an awkward lump appear in his throat but he forcefully swallowed it down and shook his head, deliberately avoiding Charles’s eyes. 

‘I do,’ he said firmly. ‘I do know you. I know it sounds crazy-’ here he risked a quick glance up into Charles’s eyes before looking away again, ‘but I _know_ you. Charles – I feel like I’ve known you all my life.’

He grimaced when he saw that, far from reassuring Charles, this only seemed to pain him further.

‘Erik, I-’

‘Don’t ask this of me, Charles,’ Erik interrupted him, his tone almost pleading. ‘I just – I don’t understand why you _would_ ask this of me!’

Charles sighed and, pulling back the hand that had been holding Erik’s, rubbed his forehead tiredly. ‘I know it’s hard to understand,’ he said slowly, frowning down at the table, ‘Believe me, it’s not exactly easy to keep it straight in my mind either. But please trust me when I say that I _do_ have my reasons for wanting you to do as I have asked.’

‘And what are these reasons?’ Erik demanded, trying his best to tamp down the sense of bitterness and betrayal that he knew he had no right to be feeling.

Charles looked up and met Erik’s eyes with a firm and serious gaze. ‘I made an agreement, Erik,’ he said quietly, his expression sad but calm. ‘And I signed a contract – a legally binding contract that I signed of my own free will.’

‘Bullshit,’ Erik snarled, but Charles calmly talked over him. 

‘I have less than two years left on my contract,’ he said evenly, remaining cool and unflinching even with Erik’s glare focused on him. ‘That’s less than two years before I can escape this place without any repercussions.’

‘But surely-’ Erik began, frustrated, before Charles cut him off.

‘I just don’t want you to pin your hopes on me,’ he said gently, looking at Erik with sad eyes. ‘Nor do I want to get my hopes up either. Erik – I understand what you are doing and I applaud it, I truly do, but you must understand – they will not let you continue as you are. You are in _danger_ , Erik. For both your sake as well as mine – _please_ let this go.’ 

Erik shook his head. ‘No,’ he said stubbornly, refusing to back down. ‘No, I can’t do that. I cannot allow you to continue like this, Charles. I can’t.’

Charles let out a noise of frustration at that. ‘But Erik,’ he said tiredly, ‘I _want_ to continue with it.’ He caught the look of stunned incomprehension on Erik’s face and he smiled sadly. ‘It’s not all that bad, you know,’ he said softly, looking at Erik as if he were the one deserving of sympathy. ‘I have absolutely no recollection of anything that has happened in the last three years. For me it seemed that I had only closed my eyes for a second before I was woken up again and told that three years had passed.’ He shook his head in awe. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it possible if I hadn’t experienced it myself. But honestly, Erik,’ he voice was gentle, ‘it’s really not as bad as you would think.’

Erik was unmoved. ‘I don’t care,’ he said obstinately, shaking his head. ‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember any of it or if you think only a second has passed – it’s still not right. And I know you say that you signed the contract of your own free will, Charles, but Raven _told_ me about what happened. Charles – that was _coercion_. You were under _duress_ , for fuck’s sake!’ He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. ‘There is nothing _legal_ about that fucking contract and you know that as well as I do!’

Charles turned his face away, his expression tight and unhappy. When he spoke again his voice was subdued. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said quietly, still not looking at Erik. ‘I still want to complete my time here without any trouble or interference. I just want to be left alone so that I can-’

‘Why are you even saying this?’ Erik demanded angrily, unwilling to hear Charles complete that sentence. ‘You can’t honestly want this! I don’t understand how _anyone_ can actually-’

‘I’m doing this for Raven, all right?’ Charles snapped, finally losing his temper and glaring at Erik with narrowed eyes. He caught himself after a moment and the look of anger was immediately replaced with an expression of bone-deep weariness. ‘I apologise,’ he said tiredly, running a hand over his face. ‘It’s just …’ he let out a ragged breath and looked at Erik with wide eyes as if pleading with him to understand. ‘I made this bargain for a reason and that reason is still as strong today as it was three years ago. I’m doing this so that Raven doesn’t have to, so that she can be out there and live a normal life and just – just _be_.’ He sighed and ran his hands through his hair before once more turning to Erik, looking resigned. ‘It’s not that I don’t _want_ to leave here – it’s just that I _can’t_. Not in good conscience, at any rate.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Miss Frost was kind enough to remind me that should I fail to complete the rest of my contract for any reason whatsoever then the remainder of my time will immediately be passed back onto Raven – which is, of course, something that I simply cannot allow.’

Erik felt himself struggling to breathe. ‘But – we can-’ he started but Charles was already shaking his head.

‘No, Erik,’ he said kindly. ‘I’m afraid that we couldn’t.’

At that Erik roughly pushed back the hair on his forehead and gripped the side of the desk angrily. ‘No,’ he said, agitated. ‘No, I won’t let you do this – you can’t. I know why you think you must, but – _Charles_ – you just _can’t_.’

Charles was watching Erik with a very sad expression on his face although he tried to hide his distress the moment that Erik looked back up at him.

‘Erik-’ he said but Erik interrupted him.

‘No.’

‘Erik, if you would just listen to me-’

‘I can’t let you do this, Charles-’

‘ _Erik!_ ’ 

Erik blinked at the forcefulness of Charles’s tone and immediately shut his mouth, obedient.

Charles sighed when Erik halted in his protests and, after a moment’s hesitation, took in a long, deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Erik,’ he said quietly, shaking his head. ‘I truly am. Especially as I am starting to understand just how much I meant – how much I still _mean_ – to you.’ He paused. ‘But Erik,’ he said gently, ‘you have to remember – I don’t actually _know_ you. To me you are a stranger – a man that I met less than ten minutes ago and of whom I know precious little about. Please don’t think me overly rude or harsh, but I am only being truthful when I say that I’m afraid that what you want or desire is really of very little consequence to me. I have only one person in the world that I truly care about in my life and that is Raven.’ He swallowed painfully. ‘She is my number one priority and that is not something that will ever change. If I had to make the same deal all over again, then you can be sure that I would do it in a heartbeat.’ He paused and smiled grimly. ‘For her, I would do anything.’

Erik didn’t have a response to that but Charles was gazing at him with such earnestness that he felt almost guilty for the bitter despair that was currently brewing in his heart. 

‘You do understand, don’t you?’ Charles asked gently, looking at Erik with worried eyes. ‘About why I have to do this? About why I am asking _you_ to do this?’

Erik’s mouth twisted sullenly and ducked his head, unable to meet Charles’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, looking down at the table and refusing to glance up. ‘I understand. And I want you to know-’ he hesitated for a moment before soldiering on, determined that Charles should hear it, ‘What you are doing now, for Raven – I want you to know that I would do the same for you.’

Charles’s face fell at that and he turned away, looking pained. ‘Erik …’ he murmured, his expression sad.

‘No,’ Erik said immediately, lifting his head and glaring at Charles. ‘No,’ he said tightly, gritting his teeth. ‘I don’t want to hear you say it. You think I don’t know how this must sound? Just – don’t say anything.’

Charles’s mouth twisted but after a moment he let out a sigh and nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said wearily. ‘I won’t. I very much doubt that I’d be able to sway your mind anyway. Something tells me that you can be quite stubborn when you want to …’ He gave Erik a sudden smile. ‘In fact, I shudder to imagine what you and Raven were like when you argued. Your quarrels must have been the stuff of legends – I’m almost glad that I missed them.’

That startled a huff of laughter out of Erik who glanced up at Charles in surprise. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said wryly, the corner of his mouth pulling upwards almost in spite of himself. ‘Raven’s a force of nature – I doubt that even I could match her obstinacy when she got herself going.’

‘Yes,’ Charles was smiling widely now and the waves of affection that were rolling off him were almost tangible. ‘She could be rather tenacious couldn’t she?’ he asked fondly. ‘I generally found that the best policy on such occasions was to keep my mouth shut and agree with everything she said.’

Erik raised an eyebrow. ‘I found yelling at her to get the hell out of my apartment pretty effective, myself,’ he drawled.

Charles laughed at that and Erik found himself longingly tracing the curve of Charles’s jaw with his eyes before he realised what he was doing.

‘Yeah,’ he coughed, hastily carrying on to cover up his embarrassment and the sudden dryness in his mouth. ‘Raven could be difficult but then so could I. We got on well despite that – or probably because of it.’ He glanced down at his hands, feeling yet another pang at the thought of Raven on the run again, once more alone and friendless. ‘She was my friend,’ he said firmly, gritting his teeth against the wave of anger that threatened to overwhelm him at the thought of Frost’s trickery. ‘Whatever her flaws were, she was my friend.’

Charles was watching him carefully but he nodded when Erik met his eyes.

There was silence for a moment in which neither of them spoke.

‘Erik?’ Charles asked after a minute.

‘Yes?’

‘Why do you keep talking about my sister in the past tense?’

Erik froze. He quickly covered it up by raising his eyebrow. ‘Do I?’ he asked casually. ‘I didn’t realise. I was probably just following your lead.’ As Charles still didn’t look entirely convinced he carried on, allowing his expression to darken slightly. ‘Or maybe it’s just that I realise that I’m probably not going to get out of here any time soon …’

That made Charles snap out of whatever thoughts of suspicion that he may have been harbouring.

‘Oh no,’ he said, sitting up and looking slightly upset. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. Erik – you mustn’t think like that. You are getting out of here, I know you are.’ At Erik’s sceptical look he pushed forward, leaning on the table and gazing at Erik with earnest eyes. ‘You _will_ , Erik, I know it. Miss Frost _promised_.’

Erik let out a harsh laugh at that. ‘Oh, she _promised_ , did she?’ he asked sarcastically, allowing his mouth to twist into a sneer. ‘Then she _must_ have meant it. Heaven forbid that she _lied_.’

Charles retreated from the table at that and Erik immediately felt contrite as he saw the upset expression on his face.

‘She wouldn’t do that,’ Charles said, shaking his head. ‘Erik, she wouldn’t. I – I know that you have no reason to trust her but I honestly do believe that she will do as she says. She told me that she would free you and she promised you the same … I just don’t think that she would lie. Not about something like that.’

Erik scowled and glanced away. ‘You’re too trusting,’ he said, gritting his teeth.

Charles let out a snort. ‘You mean gullible,’ he said flatly and Erik blinked in surprise to see the wry expression on Charles’s face. ‘Honestly, Erik, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know that people don’t always tell the truth and I know that a lot of them can’t be trusted. However,’ here he paused as if in an attempt to choose his words carefully, ‘I do genuinely believe that Miss Frost was telling the truth – at least on this occasion.’ At Erik’s disbelieving look Charles rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘What possible reason could she have to lie?’

Erik could think of a fair few reasons but he decided that he would rather not distress Charles by airing them.

‘What makes you so sure of her?’ he asked instead, feeling curious about Charles’s defence of Frost. ‘What did she say to you anyway?’

Charles made a face at that. ‘Not very much,’ he admitted, frowning slightly. ‘Just a few details about what was going on and a – er – reiteration of the terms of my contract.’ He shrugged. ‘We didn’t speak for very long, but – I just don’t think she would lie. Not about this. I can’t explain it but – I just don’t think she would feel the need to stoop to that.’

Erik grudgingly admitted that Charles’s assertion was not entirely without merit. Emma was a woman who was secure enough in herself and her power to forgo the need to lie. She was cold and calculating, yes, but her weapons of choice were deals and contracts and her shield was her placid forthrightness; she would happily lay all the cards down on the table for you in a neat and orderly manner and then sit back and watch as you yourself made the choice to slit your own throat.

‘Fine,’ Erik said, abruptly deciding that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his precious minutes with Charles talking about Emma Frost of all people. ‘Whatever you say. It’s not like it actually matters – I hardly think that my opinion is going to change the way this ends.’ Catching Charles’s pained look he swiftly decided to move on. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said instead, unconsciously reaching out across the table to grasp Charles’s hands. ‘Talk to me about something.’

Charles looked unsure. ‘What would you like me to say?’ he asked weakly, eyeing the sight of Erik’s large hands curled over his own midway across the table.

‘Anything,’ Erik said at once, squeezing Charles’s hands. ‘Just anything – whatever you like. Your favourite colour, your very first memory … whatever you are thinking about now. Anything.’

Charles gave him an odd look but after a while he sighed and finally gave in. ‘Okay,’ he said cautiously, biting his lip in concentration and frowning down at his fingers. ‘I suppose I can tell you about myself. Although,’ his blue eyes met Erik’s as he let out a humourless chuckle, ‘you will have to forgive me if the information is a few years out of date.’

Erik didn’t return the smile but he squeezed Charles’s fingers in his. Charles glanced down at their joined hands at that, as if surprised all over again to see his hands caught between Erik’s. Shaking himself, he turned his thoughts once again to what he ought to say. He licked his lips, causing Erik’s thoughts to stray for a moment, before beginning.

‘I suppose I should start with my family,’ he said quietly, and then for the next fifteen minutes Erik said next to nothing as he sat listening, enraptured by the sound of Charles’s voice and soaking up each and every word with the hunger of a starving man. His heart hurt each time Raven was referred to – which was very often, he found; she seemed to be the focal point at which Charles’s whole life had revolved – and each smile and quirk of the lips had him yearning to reach out to trace the line of Charles’s jaw – to just _touch_ him so that he could make sure that this was _real_ and not just another one of his hundred different dreams and imaginings.

It was only later that Erik realised that he had been given a lot more then twenty minutes with Charles but at the time the only thing he felt at Emma’s return to the room was a mixture anger and despair.

‘Time’s up boys,’ Emma said softly, standing by the doorway and watching the two of them with an unreadable expression on her face. Charles’s lips were still parted from where he had stopped mid-word at Emma’s arrival but he closed them at that, his mouth pursed slightly. At a look from Emma, however, his shoulders slumped and he finally turned back to Erik with a wry smile.

‘It looks like my time is up,’ he said in a quiet voice, grimacing slightly. He slowly got to his feet and Erik found himself mirroring the action, rising up almost helplessly with him as if he were magnetised to Charles’s body.

Charles looked somewhat at a loss at what to do with himself just then. He looked at Emma, his expression lost, and then back to Erik. He then sighed and pushed his hair back from his forehead and, after a moment’s hesitation, stuck his hand out towards Erik. ‘Erik,’ he said formally, ‘it’s been a pleasure. I -’ he paused, biting his lip, suddenly young and vulnerable once more. ‘You _will_ do as I asked you to, yes? Forget about me, I mean? You will, won’t you?’

Erik couldn’t answer.

‘Erik!’ Charles’s voice was almost pleading now and Erik took a moment to marvel at how earnest Charles was about a man that he had only just met and whom he had spent no more than half an hour with. It was almost enough to make him cave.

Almost.

‘I-’ he met Charles’s eyes for a moment before looking away, scowling. ‘I will think about it.’

In the background he could make out the sceptical expression on Emma’s face but Charles looked nothing but relieved.

‘Thank you,’ he said fervently, reaching out to clasp Erik’s hand in both of his as if Erik was doing him a favour just by considering it. ‘Thank you, Erik, I mean it. And – please go on being a friend to Raven, won’t you?’

Erik swallowed. ‘Always,’ he said out loud, meeting Charles’s eyes unwaveringly. ‘I will always be her friend.’

Charles shoulders slumped at that but this time it was out of relief. ‘Good,’ he said, smiling weakly. ‘That – that’s good. At least now she will have someone looking out for her.’

His two hands then released Erik’s one and Erik immediately felt adrift, lost without the touch of Charles’s hand on his.

‘Goodbye, Erik,’ Charles said, taking a step backwards but never moving his eyes away from Erik’s. ‘Please don’t ever search for me again.’

Erik just stared after him mutely.

Emma seemed to take this as her cue to intervene for she uncrossed her arms and stepped forward away from the wall, immediately taking charge.

‘Charles, if you will wait in the room next to this one I will have someone come to escort you back,’ she said quietly.

Charles momentarily hesitated before nodding uneasily. He then glanced over at Erik for a moment before smiling slightly. 

‘Goodbye, Erik,’ he repeated softly before giving him one final nod and turning around.

And just like that he walked out of the room and out of Erik’s life.

Emma waited until the door had swung shut behind him before finally turning to face Erik. ‘Well?’ she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Erik was silent for a moment. Then:

‘Yes,’ his voice was quiet as he gazed off into the distance, ‘Yes, I will stay. I will be Charles’s Handler.’

Emma smiled. ‘Good thing that I brought your contract along, then,’ she said and promptly placed a small sheaf of papers down on the desk. ‘We might as well make it official, after all.’

Erik stared at the document blankly.

Emma watched him for a moment and then let out a sigh. ‘Read over it,’ she said in a voice that was almost gentle. ‘Take your time.’ She paused. ‘I need a word with Charles anyway.’

And with that she swept out of the room, leaving Erik staring at a sheaf of crisp white paper and feeling more utterly alone than he had ever felt in his entire life.


	40. Finale

Logan was waiting in Meeting Room A, scowling at the wall in front of him. It had been almost four hours since he had been confined to the room and in that time the door had not been opened even once. He had no idea what was going on outside the room and he hadn’t a clue what had happened to any of the others. All he knew was that he fucking _hated_ being made to wait and that this was a fact that Emma goddamn Frost was more than aware of.

He folded his arms and glared at the wall opposite him. He’d long ago decided that he wouldn’t give Frost the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. He would take whatever punishment the House threw at him – whether it be incarceration or the Attic – and he would damn well stick his middle finger up at whole fucking institution if it was the very last thing that he did.

Which, a nasty little portion of his mind reminded him, it probably would.

Despite his resolution to stand fast, Logan had almost reached the end of his tether by the time anything actually happened. Hours had passed and Logan, who was not the most patient of men at the best of times, was thoroughly sick of the sight of the excruciatingly dull, white-painted room. He had just begun to contemplate an attempt to break down the door by battering it with his chair when the door was finally pushed open and there, at long last, was Emma Frost. 

Logan immediately went still. He watched, unblinking, as Frost made her way into the room and set a thick white folder on top of the table before then gracefully slipping into the seat in front of him. It was only then that she lifted her head and deigned to look at him, allowing their eyes to meet.

Logan glared at her. ‘Here to take down my final words, Frost?’ he sneered, deliberately making no effort to correct his obnoxiously slouched posture despite the look of displeasure that Emma directed at him. ‘Cause I’ve come up with a couple of real beauties here that I’d just _love_ to have taken down on record.’

Emma allowed her eyes to hover disapprovingly over Logan’s slouched form for a moment before she finally turned her cold gaze on him. ‘That, unfortunately, I can well imagine,’ she said with a thin smile, ‘But maybe next time, Mr. Howlett.’

Logan raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re not even gonna listen to a condemned man’s last words?’ He shook his head and folded his arms over his chest. ‘After I spent such a long time on them, too.’

‘I rather doubt that you had anything _else_ to do,’ Emma smiled sweetly at him but Logan couldn’t mistake the dig for anything other than what it was. ‘But, marvellous though I am certain your – perfectly unwarranted – imagined final words will be, I am afraid that I really don’t have the time right now to give them the attention that they deserve.’

Logan’s eyes narrowed. He eyed Emma cautiously, unsure of what to make of her words. ‘What are you saying?’ he asked warily, his back tense.

Emma gave him a look. ‘I am saying,’ she said with deliberate calm, ‘that you will have to postpone your eulogy, Mr. Howlett. I am not done with you just yet.’

Logan wasn’t sure whether or not this was a good thing. ‘So you’re not sending me up to the Attic?’ he demanded, watching Emma’s reaction closely.

Emma shook her head. ‘Not today,’ she said lightly but Logan could clearly hear the underlying threat in her words.

He let out a grunt and allowed himself to relax back into his chair. ‘So,’ he said gruffly, spreading his legs and slumping in his seat in a way that made Emma wrinkle her nose in distaste. ‘If you’re not killing me and you’re not tossing me in the Attic then what else have you got in store for me?’

Emma cocked her head. ‘What do _you_ think that I have in store for you?’ she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Logan shrugged. ‘I really couldn’t care less,’ he drawled, reaching into the pocket of his trousers before remembering with a scowl that he didn’t actually have any cigars left on him. ‘It’s not like I’m sorry for what I did.’ He scratched his cheek then, considering. ‘I doubt you’re planning anything pretty, though.’ He was silent for a brief moment but then he shrugged again. ‘It doesn’t matter – I can take it. Although,’ he added as if in afterthought, ‘if you’re planning on having me neutered, I’ll have to change my mind and vote for the Attic.’

Emma smirked. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ she murmured.

‘Yeah,’ Logan snorted ‘You do that.’ His eyes then darted out to meet Emma’s. ‘Seriously, though – why are you here Frost? ‘Cause I know it ain’t for my skills in making polite conversation.’

Emma watched him for a moment, eyeing him carefully. Sat as she was, all decked out in white, she looked like an angel that had been sent down from heaven. Which, of course, was nothing short of ironic.

After a minute she stirred herself. ‘Well,’ she said, straightening up in her chair and looking at him thoughtfully. ‘I suppose there are a number of reasons. I have a great deal to discuss with you, after all.’

‘You do?’ Logan asked, feeling a little sceptical.

‘Of course,’ Emma smiled sweetly. ‘You can’t make an attempt to abscond with one of my Actives and not expect to be asked about it, after all.’

Logan grimaced.

‘Tell me,’ Emma’s voice was cool but there was an icy glint in her eye. ‘Was the break-out a spur of the moment decision or was there more forethought involved? I must admit that I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that it was the latter, considering the amount of planning that went into it. Or rather,’ she sniffed, ‘the lack thereof …’

Logan scowled. ‘Fuck you, lady,’ he snarled and for some reason that made him feel marginally better. ‘And fuck you again if you think I’m talking. You can glare and threaten all you want, Frost, but you won’t be getting anything out of me.’

Emma frowned but she didn’t seem to be particularly taken aback by his response. ‘What a surprise,’ she muttered under her breath. She then calmly flicked her hair back and studied Logan for a moment, her gaze assessing. ‘I could make it worth your while, you know,’ she murmured at last, looking carefully over Logan’s shoulder to the wall opposite. ‘Give you something in exchange for your cooperation …’

Logan didn’t even pause to consider. ‘Nice try, lady,’ he sneered disdainfully, ‘But I’m not buying anything that you’re selling. I know what goes on behind the cowshed, see? You’re wasting your time, trying to pull that one on me.’

Emma sighed resignedly. ‘Very well,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I can’t say I am surprised. I have always known that you were a man of principles.’ She then paused and deliberately gazed down at her nails. ‘I had rather thought the same of Mr. Lehnsherr, too. I must admit to being really quite surprised when he agreed to my deal.’

That got Logan’s attention. ‘Deal?’ he growled, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. ‘What deal’s that?’

Emma blinked her eyes artlessly in a way that didn’t fool Logan for an instant. ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘We negotiated, he and I, and we eventually came to a resolution that I believe both parties are quite satisfied with.’

Logan went completely still.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Emma laughed, amused by the sudden tension in his frame, ‘It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. You should give Mr. Lehnsherr a bit more credit than that. He merely decided to join us, that’s all.’

Logan went cold. ‘You made him a Doll?’ he demanded, baring his teeth and gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

Emma snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said primly. ‘He would hardly have agreed to that. No, Mr. Lehnsherr is not a Doll, never fear.’

‘But he’s part of the House now?’ Logan persisted, watching Emma closely. ‘He actually agreed to be part of this loony-bin … as what? A Handler?’

Emma’s eyes glinted. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling with satisfaction, ‘Mr. Lehnsherr has indeed joined on as a Handler.’ She paused. ‘ _Charles’s_ Handler, to be precise.’

Logan’s reaction was instantaneous. 

‘ _Sonofabitch!_ ’ he snarled, almost leaping from his chair in anger. ‘You made that asshole _Charles’s Handler_?’

Emma looked unmoved by the outburst. ‘You disapprove, Mr. Howlett?’ she asked lightly.

Logan glared at her. ‘You’re damn right I disapprove,’ he hissed, placing his palms on the table and trying to suppress his overpowering fury. ‘The guy’s _obsessed_ with Charles! What the hell were you thinking?’

Emma shrugged. ‘I think we both know that Lehnsherr’s harmless enough,’ she said evenly. ‘At least where Charles is concerned. His childish little infatuation just means that he’ll be all the more protective of him, that’s all.’ She suddenly fixed Logan with a penetrating look. ‘But that’s not what has got you upset, is it Mr. Howlett?’

‘You’re goddamn right it’s not!’ Logan snarled, unable to restrain himself, slamming his palms on the tabletop and glaring fiercely into Emma’s eyes. ‘That bastard took my fucking _job_. Of _course_ I’m fucking upset! _I’m_ Charles’s Handler, not Lehnsherr!’ He curled his hands into fists and glared at Emma with loathing. ‘Damn it, Frost, if you were going to go ahead and fire me then you could have at least come out and told me that straight away instead being a goddamn _bitch_ about it!’

There was silence and for a moment Logan thought that he had finally gone too far. But then Emma spoke.

‘ _Fire_ you?’ Frost repeated slowly, her expression thoughtful, ‘Oh no – on the contrary, my dear Mr. Howlett – I am _promoting_ you.’

Logan stared at her. ‘What?’ he said flatly, sure that he had misheard.

Emma gave him a thin smile. ‘Congratulations,’ she said dryly. ‘You’ve been promoted. You’re no longer a Handler but the Head of Dollhouse Security.’ She paused for a moment before sarcastically adding, ‘Please don’t feel the need to thank me.’

Logan ignored this last sentence, focusing instead on the one before it. ‘Me?’ he snorted disbelievingly. ‘Are you out of your mind? You want _me_ to be the Head of Security? _Me?_ ’

Emma cocked an eyebrow. ‘I said as much, didn’t I?’ she asked, sounding only slightly annoyed.

Logan’s eyes narrowed and he met Emma’s eyes with suspicion. ‘Why me?’ he demanded, eyeing her mistrustfully.

Emma shrugged. ‘We do need _someone_ to fill Mr. Creed’s shoes,’ she said simply. ‘And since you’re the reason that I’m one Head of Security down …’ she allowed her voice to trail off.

Logan stared at her in disbelief. ‘So you’re saying – what? You’re giving me the job because I just so happened to be the only one here?’

Emma shrugged. ‘It seemed convenient,’ she agreed.

But Logan wasn’t convinced. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head grimly. ‘That’s bullshit. I’m not buying it. I know you, Frost – you don’t do things just because they’re _convenient_.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘So go ahead and tell me again. Why. Me?’

Emma scowled. She met his eyes for a moment before then making an irritated noise and relenting. ‘Because you’re the only one I can think of who can handle the responsibility,’ she said bluntly. ‘Because I think that you would be the best man for the job. And-’ she hesitated for a second, ‘And because I trust you,’ she finished, causing Logan to start in surprise. More surprising still was the fact that he actually believed her: Emma’s tone was brusque but Logan could tell that she wasn’t just saying these words for effect – she was actually telling the truth.

He eyed her warily, his jaw clamped tight. ‘I don’t get you, lady,’ he said after a moment.

Emma seemed to find this statement rather amusing at first but then she shook her head and sighed. ‘You are a good man, Logan,’ she said quietly, and her tone was strangely sincere. ‘I am in need of good men, here at the Dollhouse.’

‘Even after everything I’ve done?’ Logan demanded, still suspicious. ‘After everything that I tried? You’re still just gonna go ahead and _promote_ me?’

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Well look at this way,’ she drawled. ‘If we were to compare which of our actions today was the most treasonous, I think I would come out just a _little_ bit higher on that score than you would.’

That startled a huff of laughter out of Logan in spite of himself. ‘Yeah,’ he said, mouth curling upwards in a smirk. ‘I guess there’s that.’

They were both silent for a moment.

‘Will you do it?’ Emma asked at last, watching him carefully. ‘There are quite a few perks, you know – and the money isn’t half bad either, if I do say so myself …’

Logan snorted at that. ‘What makes you think I need any more money, Frost?’

Emma raised an eyebrow and pointedly directed her gaze down to the front of Logan’s torn and bloodied shirt that hadn’t exactly been at the height of _haute couture_ even to begin with. ‘Nothing, clearly,’ she said dryly before letting out a sniff. ‘But money is the least of it, Mr. Howlett. There are many benefits to being the Head of Security,’ she paused and met his eyes meaningfully. ‘Not least the fact that, in agreeing to the promotion, you will automatically become one of the highest authorities within the Dollhouse, second only to myself.’

That made Logan sit up straighter in his chair. ‘Authority, huh?’ he repeated, narrowing his eyes.

‘Certainly,’ Emma said coolly, watching him with a detached expression on her face. ‘Being in charge of security means that you are in charge of all the security personnel within the House – and that includes Handlers. In fact, not only will you get the final say on who is employed as a Handler within our House but,’ her eyes gleamed as if she were about to pull out her trump card, ‘It will also be up to you to do the background checks on any and all of our prospective clients. Which means,’ her eyes met Logan’s and she smiled. ‘You get full veto rights on all of our customers.’

Logan went still. ‘ _All_ of them?’ he repeated, suddenly alert. He couldn’t help but remember all of the times that Charles had returned from an engagement with bruises on his body or scratches on his arms. Logan’s blood boiled even at the memory.

Emma shrugged. ‘Well you have to give a reasonable and verifiable reason for their rejection,’ she said carelessly, ‘But as long as you have a good reason to screen them out then there shouldn’t be a problem.’ She frowned then, her eyes narrowing. ‘I always thought that Mr. Creed wasn’t nearly as scrupulous about the background checks as I would have liked.’ She glanced at Logan. ‘You may have to go over the lists of our current clients just to check that they all pass muster.’ She paused. ‘ _If_ you decide to take the promotion, of course.’

Logan was silent for a moment. ‘And if I say no?’ he said at last, watching Emma carefully. ‘If I said that I just wanted to go back to my old job – to _Charles_ – then what? Would you let me?’

Emma gave him a look. ‘Surely you remember me telling you that Charles has a new Handler?’ she said reproachfully. ‘It was only a moment or two ago, and you made quite a fuss about it, as I recall …’

Logan glared at her. ‘So that’s a no, then?’ he said sarcastically.

‘That’s a no,’ Emma agreed, nodding her head.

Logan sighed and buried his face in his hands, forcing himself to take deep breaths and just _think_. ‘What if I left?’ he asked suddenly, not lifting his head from his hands. ‘What if I’ve had enough of this place and just want to leave? To walk out that door and not look back? Would you let me do that?’

Emma was silent for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said at last, her voice quiet. ‘Yes, I would, much as I would regret it. But Mr. Howlett,’ here she waited until Logan had lifted his head from his hands and met her eyes. ‘I think that both you and I know that that’s not something that you are going to do.’ She paused. ‘Not while Charles is still here, at any rate.’

Logan grimaced and turned his head away, a look of pain on his face. ‘Fucking stupid, is what it is,’ he muttered to himself, unable to meet Emma’s eyes. ‘He’s a goddamn Doll – it’s not like he even has a clue who I am …’

Emma didn’t respond, for which Logan was grateful. She just sat there with a pensive expression on her face, her thoughts completely hidden away behind a cool, sombre façade.

Logan sighed. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘I’m gonna have to do this, aren’t I?’

Still Emma said nothing.

‘Fuck,’ Logan said again. Then he grimaced. ‘Better send that contract down my way before I change my mind, Frost.’ He gave her a tight, humourless smile. ‘No use pretending that you don’t have it on you. I know how you work. You probably had the damn thing all typed up and ready to go before Creed’s body was cold.’

Emma’s expression did not change. Without moving her eyes away from him, she used a single, manicured finger to push the white folder that lay all but forgotten on the table-top towards him.

‘Hot off the press,’ she murmured, a satisfied look in her eyes.

Logan snorted before reaching for the folder and pulling it open. Inside was a sheaf of neatly-typed sheets stipulating the terms of the contract, all written in clear, evenly-spaced paragraphs. Beside the document lay a slim, white pen.

Logan stared at the two for a moment, taking the sight in. Then he grabbed the pen, flipped to the last page of the contract, and signed his name.

When he looked up again Emma was staring at him with astonishment, an expression that that seemed completely alien to her. A second later and her face was once again blank but she was still looking at him oddly, almost disapprovingly.

‘You didn’t read the contract,’ she said flatly, not looking too pleased about this.

Logan shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he said blithely, ‘I guess I didn’t. Too many words for me.’ When Emma continued to look unimpressed, he sighed. ‘I don’t see what the big deal is,’ he grunted. ‘I was gonna sign the damn thing anyway.’

‘That’s hardly the point,’ Emma began stiffly but Logan cut her off.

‘Do you think the contract’s legit?’ he demanded, looking her in the eye. ‘That everything’s all straight and fair?’

‘Of course,’ Emma looked almost insulted.

Logan shrugged. ‘Well, there you go,’ he said easily. ‘That’s that, then.’

‘It’s still-’

‘I read the first page,’ Logan said quietly, cutting her off. ‘The contract is for two years … the same amount of time that Charles has left here, funnily enough.’

Emma didn’t react.

Logan sighed. ‘Look,’ he said gruffly, not looking at her, ‘You and I might not get on too well and I don’t agree with a hell of a lot that you do, but-’ he hesitated, as if reluctant to continue, ‘-but I trust you, Frost,’ he said at last. ‘At least in this. So sue me if I’m wrong, but – I just don’t think you would screw me over like that. That’s not the kind of person you are.’

Emma watched him for a moment. ‘You’re an idiot,’ she said at last, her tone blunt. Then she sighed. ‘Luckily, you are also a correct one.’ She gave him a small, not entirely cold smile at that and held her hand out over the table. ‘Welcome back to the team, Mr. Howlett.’

Logan grunted but took her hand anyway, shaking it firmly. ‘I’m just hoping that I don’t end up regretting this,’ he muttered but Emma must have heard, for she smiled.

‘So am I, Mr. Howlett,’ she said dryly even as she got to her feet. ‘Believe me, so am I.’

And with that she smiled, patted Logan on the shoulder, and with a swift turn of her heel, she walked out of the room with the contract in her hand, leaving Logan stock-still and motionless even as the sharp click of her stilettos echoed through the door.

The _open_ door.

Logan didn’t wait for an invitation. In a second he was on his feet, making his way cautiously towards the door, his back tense and his jaw clenched. He crept up to the doorway and paused at the threshold, holding his breath and taking a moment to think the matter through. Then he blinked and, straightening up, turned and walked out of the room.

He was not accosted by a dozen armed security guards as he had almost expected, despite knowing that, having signed Frost’s contract, he was now officially the Head of House Security. What he was met with, however, was the sight of a thin figure leaning against the side of the wall, watching him with an undeniable smirk.

‘I was wondering when you would be coming out of that room,’ Kevin Sydney drawled, not moving from his position against the wall. ‘Almost thought you’d died in there or something.’

Logan felt the corners of his mouth twitch in what had to be his first genuine smile in hours. ‘You’re not that lucky, Morph,’ he muttered, moving forward and coming to stand at Kevin’s side. ‘Neither am I, by the looks of things. I’m stuck here with you, after all.’

Kevin let out one of his high-pitched cackles at that before turning to face Logan fully. ‘So,’ he said casually, meeting Logan’s eyes with an amused expression. ‘I hear congratulations are in order.’

Logan blinked before immediately narrowing his eyes at him. ‘How the hell did you find that out?’ he demanded, glaring at Kevin.

Kevin just grinned and shrugged. ‘I have my ways,’ he said loftily, his eyes sparkling. At Logan’s continued glare, however, he shrugged. ‘Who do you think put your name forward when Frost was trying to sort the whole thing out?’ he asked mildly, raising an eyebrow and smirking at Logan.

Logan stared at him for a moment, not too sure what to make of this. ‘Oh,’ he grunted after a minute. ‘Well – thanks, I guess.’

Kevin watched him with knowing eyes. ‘Sure thing,’ he drawled, his eyes glinting mischievously, ‘… _boss_.’

Logan let out a growl of irritation at that, the name settling awkwardly on his shoulders. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he muttered, glaring down at the floor and shuffling his feet. Then something occurred to him and he looked back up again, frowning. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’

Kevin shrugged. ‘Just waiting,’ he said easily, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.

‘For me?’ Logan asked, surprised.

‘Hah,’ Kevin scoffed at that, ‘You should be so lucky. No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’m waiting on someone else. Someone _special_.’

Logan’s eyebrows drew closer together. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked, frowning.

But Kevin just gave him a cunning smile. ‘You’ll see,’ he murmured, and that was all he had to say on the subject.

Before Logan could pursue the matter any further, the door to the room behind Kevin – Meeting Room B, Logan realised – suddenly opened and out stepped Emma Frost. She raised an eyebrow at Logan before turning to face Sydney.

‘He’s ready,’ she said briskly. ‘You know what to do. I shall join you again shortly.’ With one more look in Logan’s direction, she turned around and walked away.

Kevin followed her with his eyes for a moment before turning back to Logan with a speculative expression. ‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘I think I’m going to let you handle this one.’

Logan blinked in surprise. ‘Why?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. ‘What’s going on? Who is it?’

But Kevin just sent him an enigmatic smile and slowly began to back away. ‘Just thought you might like one last go at your former job,’ he called as he walked away. ‘If it’s not _too_ beneath you, that is.’

Logan frowned after him but Kevin just turned away and, with one last parting smirk, disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Logan remained still for a moment, contemplating Kevin’s words with unease. For some reason he felt his heart begin to beat faster in his chest and a surge of adrenaline ran through his veins. Without knowing exactly what would happen – and yet knowing that whatever did happen would undoubtedly be important – Logan moved towards the door to Meeting Room B and, with only a moment’s hesitation, pushed it open.

‘Hello,’ Charles said pleasantly, looking up at him from inside the room with his head cocked to the side like a bird, ‘Have you come to take me back?’

At first Logan couldn’t understand what he was seeing and he just stared. ‘Charles?’ he asked uncertainly, unsure about what was going on.

His Active – _former_ Active, he unwillingly reminded himself – smiled at that and he strode forward towards Logan, holding his hand out.

‘You know me then?’ he asked, his voice low and clear as he reached forward to shake Logan’s hand. ‘I must say, it’s very odd to have all these people know my name when I haven’t the slightest clue who they are.’ He paused. ‘Then again, I suppose it’s also rather odd to close one’s eyes and open them again only to find that three years have passed in the literal blink of an eye, but – well – there you are.’

Logan went completely still. He stared at Charles in disbelief and tried to remind himself to breathe. His heart was suddenly beating very fast and somehow – incredibly, astoundingly, unbelievably – he knew that the person in front of him was not just a newly Programmed Doll.

‘Charles,’ he said in a strangled tone. ‘You’re Charles Xavier.’ He almost couldn’t believe his own words.

Charles – the _real_ Charles, he couldn’t help but marvel – smiled at him with something like amusement. ‘Yes,’ he said wryly, ‘In the flesh.’ He paused then and his mouth twisted deprecatingly. ‘Or, rather, in the _mind_. Seeing as that was what was missing all these days.’

Logan couldn’t speak. He knew that later he would remember this and kick himself but for now all he could was stare.

Charles frowned. ‘Are you quite all right?’ he asked gently, leaning forward on his toes and peering at Logan with curious eyes.

Logan coughed and shook his head. ‘I-’ he began but then he found himself looking at Charles once again and he couldn’t help himself. ‘Your accent,’ he said dumbly, unable to look away from Charles’s face. ‘It’s-’

‘British?’ Charles nodded. ‘Yes – the consequence of spending my formative years in England, I’m afraid.’

Logan swallowed. ‘Yeah,’ he rasped, before forcing himself to continue. ‘Somehow – somehow I’d always imagined that you’d have an accent like that.’ He couldn’t help remembering the RAF-pilot Program that Hank was so fond of inputting into Charles and he had to look away for a moment.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who found that a bit awkward for when he looked up again Charles was frowning down at his feet and shifting uncomfortably. ‘I – I don’t quite know what to say to that,’ he said with a grim little smile, causing Logan to silently curse himself. Of course talking like that would make Charles uncomfortable – he had no idea who Logan even was.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m Logan, by the way,’ he said gruffly, reaching out again to clasp Charles’s hand. He tried not to stare at their linked hands too hard – Charles’s looked so small in his. ‘Logan Howlett. I’m – I used to be your Handler.’

To his surprise, Charles showed some signs of recognition at his name and for a moment Logan almost believed that Charles retained some sort of memory of their time together as Active and Handler. Then Charles spoke. ‘Ah,’ he said, nodding to himself. ‘ _You’re_ Logan Howlett. Yes, Miss Frost told me about you.’

Logan stiffened at that. ‘She did, did she?’ he asked darkly, wondering what sort of things she had been telling Charles.

‘Yes,’ Charles affirmed, nodding thoughtfully. ‘She said that you were the one responsible for my care and safety over the past few years.’ He paused and met Logan’s eyes. ‘She said that you were by far the most dedicated and trustworthy of her Handlers and that I should be grateful to you for taking such good care of me during my time here.’ After a moment’s hesitation Charles slowly reached out and clasped Logan by the arm. ‘So thank you, Mr. Howlett,’ he said seriously, meeting Logan’s eyes and not looking away. ‘Logan – thank you.’

Logan, much to his own despair, found his throat going strangely tight at that. He scowled and glanced down at his feet to try to cover up his embarrassment, muttering something under his breath in order to wave aside Charles’s – very misplaced, he thought – gratitude. At the same time, a part of him wanted to puff out his chest in pride while the other half couldn’t help but puzzle over why Emma had gone to the trouble of being so very complimentary about him to Charles.

‘Yeah,’ he coughed, still staring down at the ground, ‘It was nothing. I was just – just doing my job.’

Something about that sentence seemed to be darkly amusing to Charles for he smiled wryly and shook his head. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘You’re not the only one to have said that.’

Logan frowned at that but Charles seemed to be almost troubled by the words so he didn’t push for an explanation.

And just like that it struck him all over again. He was talking to Charles Xavier. Not Charles the Doll, not Charles the Programmed Persona, not any of those poor, cheaply-wrought imitations – no, he was talking to the _real_ Charles, the Charles that had come before any of those copies, the _true_ Charles, and he was – he was …

Logan snuck another look at Charles, who was chewing his lip and frowning thoughtfully, and he found his heart squeezing painfully inside his chest. And suddenly he couldn’t resist – he had to try it.

‘I-’ he hesitated as Charles glanced up, his gaze alert and intelligent and so very blue. ‘I just wanted to know if … Do you trust me?’ he gritted out clumsily, his mouth uncomfortably dry.

Charles cocked his head and looked at him, frowning slightly. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked.

Logan steeled himself. ‘Do you trust me?’ he asked again, making sure to make eye contact and trying to project the necessary aura of calmness and safety that was needed when making a connection with an Active.

Far from being calmed, however, Charles seemed to be nothing but confused. ‘Trust you?’ he repeated, astonished. ‘How on ea-’ Catching the look on Logan’s face he quickly forced himself into a calmer tone. ‘Mr. Howlett,’ he said gently, even as his forehead creased with lines of bemusement and worry, ‘ _Logan._ Surely you know my answer to that question.’ At the dissatisfied look on Logan’s face he continued on in a quiet tone. ‘My friend,’ he said softly. ‘I am sorry, but for all that I have heard of you from Miss Frost and for all that I have spent the last few minutes talking to you, I am afraid that I do not know you.’ He looked at Logan sadly. ‘How can you expect me to trust you?’

Logan looked away, not wanting to see the pity in Charles’s eyes. ‘Right,’ he said instead, his voice gruff. ‘I get that. It was stupid of me. Forget I asked.’

But Charles continued to look at him searchingly. After a moment he sighed. ‘If it’s any consolation,’ he said quietly, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on Logan’s arm, ‘I think you are a good man. I think – I think that I could trust you to do what is right.’

Logan stared at Charles for a moment before snorting. ‘Yeah,’ he said sarcastically, unable to keep his mouth from curling up into a bitter smile. ‘Because that’s what we do here at the Dollhouse, isn’t it? The _right_ thing?’

Charles grimaced at that. ‘I see how that might be a tad contradictory,’ he admitted. ‘But nevertheless, sometimes that decision is taken out of our hands. We may not always be able to do what is right, but we can always do what we must.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Sometimes, even, the two of those things overlap.’

Logan did not fully understand what it was that Charles was saying but he got the feeling that he was talking more to himself than to Logan and so he remained silent.

After a few minutes Charles suddenly shook himself and raised his head. ‘I suppose that we had better get going,’ he said reluctantly.

Logan froze. They could leave, he thought wildly. He could take Charles – Charles who was now _himself_ – and they could leave before anyone could miss them and then Charles would be free and –

As if on cue a guard appeared at the end of the corridor, his gun strapped to his waist, and he nodded at Logan.

‘Miss Frost is waiting,’ the man said abruptly, before turning and walking away.

Logan grimaced. Damn Frost. Of course she would have him watched, especially when he was around Charles. She must have known that he would be tempted. That he wouldn’t be able to resist trying to save Charles one last time … 

Tucking the disappointment and self-loathing somewhere deep within his chest, Logan turned back to Charles. ‘Guess that’s our cue,’ he said gruffly, jerking his head towards the space that the guard had just vacated.

Charles let out a sigh and nodded. He didn’t look very happy but then Logan supposed that no one who was going back to what he was would be very happy about it.

‘Don’t worry,’ he found himself saying as they walked along the corridor towards the Programming Room. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.’

Charles smiled at that but it was a half-hearted attempt at best. ‘Thank you,’ he said anyway, but his face was shadowed in apprehension and his hands were clasped tightly by his sides. Logan felt a familiar surge of protectiveness course through him but he deliberately ignored it. While Charles the Active may have accepted his reassurances he was sure that the real Charles would find his clumsy attempts at comfort nothing but awkward.

They walked on in silence until they reached the Programming Room. When they got there they paused as if out of silent agreement and turned to look at each other.

‘So,’ Charles said, bouncing on the balls of his feet in nervous agitation. ‘I guess this is it.’

Logan did not respond.

‘I-’ Charles frowned and cleared his throat before trying again. ‘Thank you, Mr. Howlett,’ he said, holding out his hand once more. ‘I would like to say that I won’t ever forget what you have done for me, but – well, we’d both know that would be a lie, wouldn’t we?’

Logan eyed Charles for a second before letting out a soft snort and reaching out to grasp Charles’s hand in his. ‘You’re an odd man, Chuck,’ he said slowly, shaking Charles’s hand. ‘You’re nothing like I thought you’d be … but then again you are.’

Charles quirked a smile. ‘Sounds complicated.’

Logan shrugged. ‘People generally are.’

They stood like that for a moment, simply contemplating one another in silence.

‘I suppose we’d better go in,’ Charles said at last, sounding reluctant.

‘I guess we should,’ Logan replied evenly.

They stared at each other. Then, at Charles’s nod, Logan pushed the door open and they walked in.

Emma looked up from where she had been going over a set of charts on the desk.

‘You’re late,’ she said briskly, straightening up and turning towards them. She looked at Logan and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d almost started to think that you had decided to run away together.’

Charles flushed at that but Logan merely narrowed his eyes. ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he growled. ‘But we’re not that stupid.’

Emma smirked. ‘Clearly,’ she murmured, although she gave Logan a knowing look. A moment later she was back to her usual, brusque self. ‘Mr. McCoy, if you would?’

There was a clatter and then Hank appeared from one of the connecting rooms, looking anxious and fretful. His face brightened when he saw Charles, however, and he gave him a genuine smile.

‘Hello, Charles,’ he said, coming forward to greet them.

‘Hello,’ Charles said coolly. His tone was polite but nothing more.

‘Everything alright?’ Hank queried. ‘Any dizziness or nausea or headaches since I asked you last?’ He abruptly leaned in close and began studying Charles without any hint of self-consciousness. Charles shook his head, his expression tight, and he deliberately took a step backwards in order to prevent having Hank’s face pressed up against his own. Unfortunately, Hank didn’t take the hint and took another step forward at which Logan was forced to intervene. He growled at Hank and gripped his shoulder tightly, preventing McCoy from moving any closer. Hank turned to him in surprise but when he saw the expression on Logan’s face he blinked and, upon realising just what he was doing, blushed bright red and took a quick few steps back.

‘Sorry,’ he stuttered, looking completely mortified. ‘I didn’t mean to be all – I’m just used to dealing with Actives, you know and you are – well. I mean – oh dear.’ He looked over at them mournfully. ‘I’m always forgetting to rein myself in. I did the exact same thing to-’ He cut himself off there, stuttering, before continuing on, still wringing his hands. ‘I’m so sorry, Charles – I mean, Mr. Xavier. I-’

‘Enough,’ Emma’s voice cut through his babble, her bored tone making it clear that she had no interest in listening to Hank’s poor attempts at an apology. She turned towards Charles. ‘It is time.’

Charles clenched his jaw but he nodded in a strangely fierce and determined way. Taking a deep breath, he then turned towards Hank and gave him a stiff little smile. ‘Well,’ he said, his expression one of forced amiability, ‘We had better get on with it, then, hadn’t we?’

Hank turned to glance at Emma and at her nod he immediately began to usher Charles over to the Chair which sat proudly in the centre of the room, its plush leather surface masking the true nature of its purpose.

‘Please take a seat,’ Hank said hurriedly, gesturing towards the Chair. 

Charles nodded but he didn’t move immediately. He looked at the Chair anxiously, biting his lip as he did so. Then, to Logan’s surprise, Charles raised his head and looked straight at him.

‘You’ll be here?’ he asked in a small voice that seemed completely at odds with the strength that Logan had seen in him before.

Logan nodded. ‘I will,’ he promised quietly.

Charles let out a sigh, looking relieved. He then hesitated before turning back to Logan once more. ‘And when I wake up again?’ he asked uncertainly, ‘When I’m _me_ again? Will you – will you be there then?’

Logan thought back to the contract that he had signed less than thirty minutes ago and he knew, even if it were only so that he could truthfully answer this question in this very moment, that he could safely say that he was glad that he had done so.

‘Yes,’ he said, meeting Charles’s eyes and refusing to look away. ‘Yes, I will be here.’

Charles stared at him for a while longer before finally nodding. ‘Okay,’ he said, ducking his head, and Logan watched as the vulnerability on his face was replaced with a look of fierce determination. ‘Okay.’ He turned to Emma. ‘I’m ready.’

At Emma’s nod, Hank immediately began to type out a string of commands on his keyboard before then turning to Charles again. He reached forward but then, remembering himself, drew back.

‘May I?’ he asked timidly, gesturing at the straps attached to the arms of the Chair. At Charles’s stiff nod he immediately got to work and Logan was forced to look away for fear that he would try to rip the whole damn room apart in anger and frustration. 

At last everything was connected up and there was no more reason to wait. 

Hank turned to Emma and nodded. ‘We’re ready,’ he said.

Emma’s eyes slid over to Charles. ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ she said quietly, meeting his eyes with a surprisingly firm gaze. Charles met her eyes in return and he nodded but he didn’t say anything. Instead he turned away, straightening his head and lying back on the Chair’s headrest, his tethered hands clutching at the Chair’s sides. His eyes fell directly onto Logan. His lips parted.

Then Hank pushed a button.

Logan shut his eyes and turned away, unable to look. He felt a coward for doing so but even then he couldn’t bring himself to watch. To see the fierce intelligence in Charles’s sharp blue eyes fade to nothing.

A noise from behind him distracted him and when he looked up he saw that it was over. Frost was standing, looking grimly satisfied while Hank was carefully removing the connections and restraints from Charles’s limbs, gently freeing him from the confines of the Chair. When Logan could eventually bring himself to look, he saw that Charles was once again his Charles – not the Charles Xavier of the keen intelligence and wary outlook but Charles the Active, soft and vague and trustful and completely and utterly perfect.

He felt sick.

Emma was watching him. ‘Go to him,’ she said when she saw him looking back at her. ‘He needs his Handler. Right now, that’s you.’ _Not for much longer_ , she didn’t say but Logan heard it loud and clear anyway.

He couldn’t say that he wouldn’t regret it, Logan thought ruefully as he slowly made his way towards the Chair. After all, Charles had been his charge for years and Logan had spent almost every minute of that time trying to make sure that he was healthy and safe and well-looked after. Things would be very different from now on, he knew, but he also knew that if anyone else could ever dedicate themselves to Charles in the way that he deserved then it was Lehnsherr.

He had to admit it: he was glad. If anyone had to replace Logan as Charles’s Handler then he was thankful that it was Lehnsherr. 

It didn’t mean that he was any happier about being replaced, though.

Drawing up to the side of the Chair, Logan looked down into the face of its lone occupant. Charles, blank and vague but still so definitely and undeniably _Charles_ , stared back at him, peaceful and trusting and content. 

Logan slowly reached down and took Charles’s right hand in his own. 

Charles blinked.

‘Did I fall asleep?’ he asked, looking at Logan earnestly.

Logan swallowed. ‘For a little while,’ he answered.

Charles considered this response. ‘Shall I go now?’ he asked after a moment.

‘If you like,’ Logan returned.

Charles nodded at that and made to vacate the Chair. He paused, however, when he found that his hand was still caught within Logan’s. He blinked and looked up at Logan, smiling trustingly.

Logan felt his throat stick and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Then, swallowing hard, he forced himself to say the words. ‘Charles,’ he rasped, his throat dry. He clutched the small pale hand he was holding tighter and brought his eyes to meet Charles’s. ‘Do-’ he licked his lips. ‘Do you trust me?’

Charles looked at him, watching him curiously. For a moment Logan didn’t even dare to breathe.

And then Charles smiled.

‘With my life,’ he said softly, smiling.

And Logan, even while hating himself with every single fibre of his being, could not help but feel glad.


	41. Epilogue

_Three years later,_

The Dollhouse was burning.

Charles watched unmoved as the flames engulfed the building and he finally allowed himself to breathe out the sigh that he seemed to have been holding in for aeons. At that very same moment, he knew, similar operations were taking place all over the globe, all set in motion at the exact same moment and all done for the exact same reason.

Freedom.

Somewhere to his right, Phoenix – _‘Jean,’ she had smiled, squeezing his hand, ‘Jean Grey’_ – stood tall and proud, hand in hand with Scott Summers – Cyclops that was – whom they had picked up along the way after discovering that he had deliberately tracked down and infiltrated the Dollhouse in hopes of finding his younger brother, Alex Summers. Alex – or Havok, as they’d known him – was himself standing off to the side, somewhere close to his brother, watching grimly as the Dollhouse burned, his eyes hard and unforgiving and far too old for a boy his age.

Not for the first time, Charles experienced a momentary pang of regret that such youngsters had to be involved in the movement, for all that each and every one of them had volunteered of their own free will. The fight was not an easy one and they had all suffered for it – Alex more than most. He had only barely come to realise his feelings for his fellow Active, Darwin ( _Armando Muñoz,’ Charles remembered him introducing himself moments before bravely running off to divert the attention of the oncoming security team_ ), before he had lost him in a hail of gunfire followed quickly by an explosion that no one could have returned from. Alex had been nearly inconsolable after that, filled with such rage and grief that not even his brother had been able to talk him down from it. He had not remained physically unscathed either: Alex’s face was now marred by a large, deep scratch that stretched from the right side of his forehead down to the left side of his chin, barely missing his eyes and severing the line of his lips. He had been sewn back together with the utmost skill – it was truly surprising how many of the former Actives had medical and surgical expertise in their Programming backgrounds and they had all been very glad that Hank had found a way for them to retain these talents – but the scratch was still wildly obvious, marring Alex’s otherwise handsome face. Charles didn’t think that Alex cared very much about it, though. Between the wound and the loss of Darwin, the former seemed all but unimportant.

Charles shivered and turned away. He could not help but be selfishly glad that he hadn’t had much time to get to know Darwin before his death. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to handle that. Alex was made of much stronger stuff than he was, he thought sadly. Charles didn’t know what he would do if he ever lost someone that dear to his heart the way that Alex had.

At that thought, Charles found himself instinctively casting a look back over his shoulder at the two men standing behind him. He could not help the sudden warmth that flooded his veins at the sight and he quickly turned away, swallowing, still confused by the reactions that they roused in him. He had come to care for both Logan Howlett and Erik Lehnsherr very much in the time that he had come to know them but the fierceness of their loyalty and dedication to him still frightened him at times. They were too earnest, too intense and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why they thought that he was worthy of such devotion. 

He didn’t allow himself to think on it overly much, if he could help it – not now, not while everything was still so new and fragile and uncertain. He feared that if he did – if he actually allowed himself to consider it all – then he would be forever unable to continue with them out of fear or distress or _something_ , and that was unacceptable. The fight, as he had to remind himself every day, always came first.

That did not mean that he chose to ignore their loyalty, however. Both Erik and Logan had done so much for him – for _all_ of them – and he wasn’t the only one to have seen this. Charles himself might have been at the forefront of the movement but Erik and Logan were both only a step behind him and they were only there because they chose to be so. They had both done so much for the cause and Charles wondered every day how he could ever repay them for the sacrifices and the pain that they had endured in his name. Because, much as he wished otherwise, he had no illusions about it – both Logan and Erik _had_ suffered and it _had_ all been in his name.

He grimaced at the thought and allowed his gaze to slide around towards them, his eyes immediately catching theirs. He smiled at them then, slowly and sadly, and watched as both Erik and Logan’s faces immediately softened. He forced himself to hold that gaze and tried not to let his expression falter. They would need to talk, the three of them, and it would have to be sometime soon. There hadn’t been time for it before this and he had been putting it off for as long as he could but he couldn’t ignore the tension between them for much longer. The three of them needed to talk and so talk they would. Charles just wished that he knew what it was that he was going to say.

He turned away again, letting out a sigh and crossing his arms over his chest. He kept his expression calm but inside he felt small and afraid, helpless in the midst of something that he had no way of controlling. It frightened him, somehow, almost as much as the threat of the Dollhouse. Not for the first time he felt a pang of longing for his sister, and he found himself yearning for the days when they used to tell each other everything, when they were never apart for more than a few days at a time. The thought was a painful one and he tried not to linger over it more than was necessary. He was never able to stifle it for very long, however, and this time was no different.

‘Any word from Raven?’ he asked lightly, aiming the question over his shoulder and trying his best not to sound too anxious.

‘Not since this morning,’ Erik’s voice was a low rumble from behind him and Charles felt his eyes flutter shut when Erik took a step closer towards him, his arm coming to brush against Charles’s shoulder. ‘She sent word that her side was all set and that everything was going according to plan.’ He paused and raised an eyebrow at Charles. ‘She also quite emphatically stated that you ought not to worry.’

Logan let out a snort at that. ‘Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. Blondie’s not exactly known for her subtlety, you know. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t bring down the Great goddamn Wall of China while she’s out there.’

Charles found his lips curling up in an involuntary smile, something that happened very often when he was around Logan. ‘Yes, I suppose that Raven can be a bit … overenthusiastic,’ he admitted, smiling wryly. The smile faded quickly, however, and Charles found his amusement waning with it. ‘I just – I wish she hadn’t gone so far away from here …’ he said softly, his voice trailing off.

There was an indelicate snort from the side. ‘I hope that you aren’t thinking of blaming _me_ for that.’

Charles’s lips twitched once again and he shook his head in fond exasperation. ‘You must admit that you are _somewhat_ responsible, Emma,’ he said mildly, turning around to look at the former Dollhouse Director and recently-elected Chairman of the Shaw Foundation. ‘As much as it pains me to say it, the two of you really can’t stand the sight of each other.’

‘With good reason,’ Emma said dryly, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. Three years had barely changed her: she was still as gloriously intimidating and unflappable as always and her dress-sense still ran towards the ice-white end of the spectrum. ‘The bitch tries to stab me every time that we’re in the same building.’

Charles frowned at that but his expression eased as both Erik and Logan chuckled at the statement. ‘Well,’ he said instead, turning once more and looking Emma in the eye with a fond little smile, ‘I, for one, am very glad that she hasn’t succeeded.’

Emma held his eyes for a moment before snorting once again. ‘ _Yet_ ,’ she muttered ominously, tossing her hair proudly before turning back to stare at the flame-engulfed building ahead of her, her expression once more blank and closed-off.

Charles watched her with sympathy. As much as the Dollhouse was a place that was loathed in equal amounts by all of them, Charles knew that there was still some small, secret place inside of Emma that regretted her actions even today. She had poured a good chunk of her life into the upkeep and management of the Dollhouse, after all, so it was hardly surprising that she felt that way. Being elected Chairman of the Shaw Foundation couldn’t have made the decision any easier, and Charles had often seen a few of the others look askance at Emma, as if wondering where it was that her loyalties truly lay. Charles, however, trusted her completely: as far as Emma was concerned, nothing had changed. The Dollhouse was still the Dollhouse and Emma was still Emma, and _she_ had been planning this moment for years. In fact, if one thought about it, the day’s victory was mostly hers. Charles had played a big part of it, yes, but he was under no illusions that they would have got anywhere without Emma.

She had, after all, been the one to come to him.

**…**

_Three years ago,_

‘I am in need of your help, Mr. Xavier.’

These words ran through Charles’s head as he followed Emma away from the Programming Room and into the chamber at the other end of the building. Frost had refused to say anything more on the subject before Charles had undergone a quick medical check-up (Charles would rather have gone without it, if he were honest: the boundless enthusiasm of his examiner had unnerved him more than a little) and the moment that it was finished she had immediately begun to lead him away from the Programming Room – ‘so that we can have a bit of privacy’, she had said vaguely, causing Charles’s examiner to flush and stammer – and so that was where Charles was now, sitting opposite Emma Frost in a sparsely-furnished room, waiting anxiously for her to speak.

It was a good thing that he had braced himself.

‘Sebastian Shaw is dead,’ Emma said bluntly, causing Charles to stare at her. ‘He died this very afternoon. I thought you should know.’

Charles took a moment to process this. A number of different thoughts and feelings had risen up inside of him at Emma’s words and he was almost horrified to find that the one overriding emotion present seemed to be that of relief. He wasn’t entirely sure why he would feel such a thing and this troubled him more than he cared to admit. He hadn’t liked Sebastian Shaw – more the opposite, if he was being truthful – but the sense of relief that he had experienced at the news of the man’s death was a bit more substantial than he had expected ... almost as if his subconscious knew something that he did not. He frowned and turned to Emma, his expression cautious. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked uneasily, watching her closely.

If he’d hoped to learn anything from Frost’s expression then he would have failed, for Emma’s face remained perfectly calm and smooth. ‘I just thought that you ought to know,’ she said evenly, shrugging a shoulder. She then paused and Charles felt himself tense. ‘He is the reason why you are in here, after all. Oh,’ she said, blinking innocently at Charles’s wide-eyed stare. ‘Didn’t you know? He was very particular about it … he wanted you here really very badly. It was completely against protocol, you know – you weren’t at all on our radar before he pointed you out.’ She wrinkled her nose, as if in memory. ‘He was quite unbearable about it, too. He wouldn’t stop raging and threatening until we had brought you in. It wasn’t at all attractive.’ She frowned and looked at him. ‘I really thought that you knew,’ she murmured, and this time her tone was genuine.

Charles, who had been listening to her whilst sat frozen in horror, swallowed and shook his head, suddenly feeling sick. ‘No, I didn’t know,’ he said tightly. ‘Not for sure. It’s not as if I had any _time_ to think about it … I mean – I suspected, of course I did, it was hardly likely to be _entirely_ a coincidence, but-’ he shook his head, unable to go on.

‘Yes,’ Emma said softly, watching as Charles tried his best not to retch, ‘It is not as if Sebastian never was the most subtle of men. Ham-fisted and cruel, that was more his way.’

‘And you,’ Charles raised his eyes to hers, his gaze burning even as he repressed the urge to vomit, ‘You helped him. You knew that what he was doing was wrong but you still helped him. _You_ did this.’

Emma did not do anything so obvious as wince at the accusation but Charles nevertheless saw a flicker of _something_ in her eyes that showed him that she was not entirely without remorse. Even so, she made no move to apologise.

‘What could I have done?’ she asked instead, her tone eminently reasonable. ‘What would I have been able to do? Against Sebastian Shaw – I was powerless.’ She met his eyes, watching as he turned away in despair. ‘Now though,’ she said slowly, and Charles’s head lifted at her tone, his eyes suddenly alert. ‘ _Now_ , Mr. Xavier – now I am not powerless anymore.’

Charles’s eyes narrowed and he regarded Emma warily. ‘What exactly are you saying, Miss Frost?’ he asked suspiciously.

Emma smiled. ‘What I am saying, Mr. Xavier,’ she said, her lovely lips pulling back to reveal neat rows of pearl-like teeth, ‘Is that I want to bring this entire sordid, cankerous operation down to its knees and that I would very much like _your_ help to do it.’

**…**

Charles found himself smiling slightly as he recalled that conversation with Emma. It hadn’t been a very long one but it had nevertheless been incredibly profitable. Emma had initially been wary of making alliances but she had always known that bringing down the Dollhouse was not something that could be achieved single-handedly. She was playing a long-game and she needed someone who could see things her way, someone who could act with caution and deep-seated patience just as she could. She had not always had Charles in mind, she had told him quite readily, but the appearance of Erik on the scene, not to mention the advantage of Logan’s ever-growing devotion to him had made Charles appear a very attractive ally to her eyes.

That had been easy enough to explain. More difficult for Charles to understand was the question of just who exactly Logan and Erik actually _were_. Charles hadn’t been able to understand it then – he still wasn’t fully able to understand it _now_ – but somehow Emma had managed to tell him just enough to prepare Charles for meeting them.

‘I do trust them,’ she had added lightly, glancing down at her nails, ‘But I would dearly like to know your opinion on the matter. It wouldn’t do to bring them into our little operation without mutual agreement between us, and besides – I am very curious about what you will make of them both.’

It had, in the end, not taken Charles very long to assess either man and Emma had been able to add two more names to her list before the night was over. Hank McCoy and Moira MacTaggart had joined that list soon after, although Charles did not find this out until after he had Awakened for the second – and last – time.

Emma and Charles had then gone on to discuss their ideas on the recruitment of others to the cause and this was one of the issues that they had clashed about the most. Emma later admitted that one of the reasons that she had chosen Charles as an ally – apart from sheer convenience, she had hastened to add – was that she had identified in him a kindred spirit of sorts. She had found in him a keen and intelligent pragmatist, one who was not afraid to do whatever was necessary in the best interests of others – a trait that he shared with Emma. Where he differed from Emma, however, was in the fact that despite being a pragmatist, he also had an especially kind heart. Emma was not so short sighted that she had not realised this and, in the end, it was for this reason that she had made the decision to reach out to Charles. Emma was not one to be coy about her strengths but she was equally clear-sighted about her weaknesses. Their allies would not be wooed by coldness and calculation. She needed loyalty and warmth and compassion, and for that she needed Charles.

It had been easily agreed between them that the best way to work would be to go on as Emma had done all along – which is to say, in secret. That meant that Charles could not be freed from his contract before his time and that Emma would have to continue to work alone for as long as it took to convince others to join them. It also meant that they could not bring strangers into the fold: they had to deal with those who already knew about the Dollhouse and about the extent of the power that the Shaw Foundation held at its fingertips. And that meant approaching the other Actives. 

It had taken Charles more time than he would have liked to convince Emma that the Actives should only be asked to decide whether they wished to help or not after their contracts had expired. Emma had been all for waking the Actives mid-contract and asking them to choose their allegiance then and there but Charles had been firmly against this.

‘It isn’t right,’ he had said, shaking his head resolutely. ‘You cannot ask them this while they are still contracted to the House – they need to be able to choose _freely_. We have to wait until their contracts have expired and then and _only_ then can we ask them whether or not they want to join us.’

Emma had eventually agreed, albeit with some reluctance, and so when the time came that was what was done. As predicted, most of the newly-awakened Actives had abstained from joining the fight: they were simply glad that their contracts were finally over and they wanted nothing more than to forget that the whole experience had ever happened. These abstainers had their memories of the entire recruitment attempt wiped quickly and cleanly from their minds, courtesy of Hank, and were then immediately sent on their way.

A small number, however, had decided to stay behind and fight against the Dollhouse and these brave individuals, Charles thought with a fierce sort of pride, were the ones that were standing behind him now. These men and women were the ones that had seen and experienced what the Dollhouse could do and were unwilling to let it carry on any further. Each and every one of them – from Jean, Scott, Alex and Armando, all of whom had already been recruited by the time that Charles had finally Awakened, as well as several new recruits such as the strong-willed Anne-Marie and the sly Remy LeBeau (or Rogue and Gambit as he had once known them) – had deliberately and bravely chosen to stay on and fight and Charles could not feel prouder of them if he tried.

These former Actives were not their only allies, though. Raven had once again appeared in Charles’s life shortly after his Awakening and that had been a painful and tearful reunion that even now made Charles shake with unspent emotion. He had later pleaded with her to stay near him but Raven had refused, stating that she could not bear to be anywhere near either the House or Emma Frost. They had needed someone to go off and expand their network of rebels, so Charles had reluctantly allowed her to leave his side and wander away in search of other Dollhouses, but the decision had never sat well with him. He had only seen Raven a handful of times since that day but he could not stop himself from constantly worrying about her, despite the frequent assurances from both Erik and Logan that she was more than capable of looking after herself. 

They had been correct, of course – Raven had been extraordinarily successful in her recruitment and soon enough she had her own band of followers, the most notable of which was the violent and supremely deranged Wade Wilson (‘Deadpool, man, _Deadpool_ ,’ he had insisted in the only time that Charles had ever met him, after which Logan had hauled him away and had made him promise to stay away from that ‘goddamn batshit-crazy sonofabitch’), and that, apparently, had been a marriage made in heaven.

Charles sighed. If there was one thing that he regretted over the last year – and there were a number of things, he could say that much – it was that he and his sister had lost the closeness that they had previously shared. Things had changed between them – irrevocably, although Charles hated to admit it. He had lost something there, and the loss of it pained him greatly. He was not one to wallow for long, however, and in time he came to take great comfort in the fact that, although he no longer had his sister at his side, he was in fact very far from alone.

Logan, it turned out, had kept his promise. He had been there the day that Charles had Woken for the very last time, and so had Erik. It had taken Charles a while to get used to them – to the way they followed him at all times, the way their eyes were always upon him and to the way that their faces always filled with some strange, hidden emotion each time that he looked at them. At first it had made him extraordinarily uncomfortable and embarrassed but eventually the novelty had worn off on both sides and, as he came to know them and – more importantly, he felt – as they came to know _him_ , things slowly began to relax among them.

Almost a year had passed since then, and now, apart from Raven, he could not name two other people that he held closer to his own heart.

He sighed at the thought and for a moment he was revisited by the same doubts and fears that had been persecuting him ever since the day that he had been Awakened for the second time. He’d had half a mind to walk away from the Dollhouse then and the temptation had been even greater when he had seen Raven again, horrified and appalled at what had been done to her. Raven herself had wanted him as far away from the House as possible and she made it very clear that she found Charles’s reluctance baffling. She simply couldn’t understand why Charles wouldn’t come away with her at once.

‘You have given almost five years of your life to this place,’ she had told him bitterly, her eyes filled with pain. ‘Why would you want to give them anything more?’

It had taken Charles a long time to convince her that he was doing the right thing but eventually he had succeeded, although sometimes he wondered whether Raven had capitulated out of understanding or simply from sheer weariness.

‘I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just walked away from this,’ he had told her quietly after they had argued for what seemed to be hours on end. He had seen a flicker of understanding in her eyes at that – a small, heartening glimpse of the old Raven, the one who had gone to march in peace protests and had broken into laboratories to free abused animals from their cages – and so he had pressed on. ‘I can’t just forget that this ever happened or try to pretend that the Dollhouse doesn’t exist. What’s happening here is wrong, Raven, you know that as well as I do. This - this is something that I _have_ to do – as much for my sake as for everyone else’s.’

Raven had understood him in the end and she had even agreed to help, much to Charles’s pleasure. He had been very distressed when Raven later revealed that, despite her agreement, she didn’t plan on staying.

‘I can’t be here, Charles,’ she had told him sadly, looking around her and shivering. ‘Not in this place. I will do what I can – of course I will – but not here. Never here.’

She had gone on to completely ignore any and all suggestions by Charles that she allow Dr. McCoy to take a look at her head in an attempt to help her and she had left soon after that conversation, taking only a moment to say goodbye. Charles did not hear from her again until some weeks later when she called to report back on the progress of her mission. Their relationship had followed the same pattern ever since.

Yes, Charles thought, grimacing to himself. That was his one regret. That he and his sister could never go back to the way that things used to be. Too much had happened and too much suffering had occurred. They still loved each other – of course they did – but things were different now and they had both come to accept this.

He sighed and slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. At his side he saw Erik angle himself towards him in concern and he almost smiled at that, before he turned his eyes once again to the sight before him.

The Dollhouse was almost completely gone now, the fire having reduced the building to a mere skeleton that looked to be standing on its last legs. The initial explosions had helped a great deal as well, but the fire had been the final measure to ensure that the House was completely and irrevocably destroyed.

He closed his eyes and prayed that the other groups had been equally as thorough. The buildings held too much that could be dangerous in the wrong hands and they could not risk so much as a one piece of paper or one intact Memory Disk making its way into the world. The Dollhouses needed to be destroyed and even Charles, pacifist though he was, recognised the necessity of that.

Emma had been right. He was, just as she had said, a pragmatist.

It would take time before they could truly be victorious, he knew. They may have struck an enormous blow to Dollhouses the world over but they had not been able to take down all of them. They were too few in number for that and the Dollhouse was, even whilst hobbled, more powerful than they could ever fathom. It was now even more vital that they acted with steadiness and caution. The Shaw Foundation would be aware of them now; they would know that they were under threat and they would not be slow to retaliate.

As if she had read his mind, Emma chose that moment to speak. 

‘Our work is not over yet,’ she said grimly, staring at the smouldering ruins of the Dollhouse. ‘We have taken down the major bases of operation but there are still Houses dotted around the globe. We cannot allow them to continue.’

‘And we won’t,’ Erik said calmly as he stepped forward next to Charles, his jaw set in determination and his gaze unwavering as he looked out across the city. ‘We will not stop until every last House is destroyed. We will take them all down – one by one if we have to. We _will_.’ He looked down at Charles then, his face full of fierce affection. ‘Together.’

Charles smiled at him, unable to do anything else. A strong surge of hope had begun thrumming powerfully through his veins, stirring something deep inside him, and he turned to look at Logan, who met his eyes steadily.

‘Like Lehnsherr said,’ Logan said gruffly, coming to stand at Charles’s other side and giving his arm a gentle nudge. ‘We won’t be stopping any time soon. We’ll take them all down, Chuck. All of them. Together.’

Charles felt a slow, soft smile pull at the corner of his lips. Somewhere in the background he was aware of Emma rolling her eyes and turning away with a disgusted look on her face but right now he didn’t care. For the first time in a long while he felt strong and free and strangely, wildly happy.

‘Yes,’ he said, reaching down and taking hold of Erik and Logan’s hands in his own. ‘Yes, I really think we will.’ He stared out over the bustling city around them and smiled, his eyes wide and blue and shining. ‘We will win this. Together.’

And, with joined hands, they stood and watched the Dollhouse burn.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just The Three of Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172030) by [Gerec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec)




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